


■i o 


u» 

y- 

* of 

~0 * „ n ^ <0 

* , Yt* v 0 \ 0 \V 

o . O, V * ' 0 f 


' 

' 'A o v 








\ 


* „ °J, * v S ° - 

s 1 * V v * 
v ^ r ■ 
^ JvV *-/{ 
</> \ V 


o y ■% ° 

cx t> * 

c o N C , <* * ***' 


-A oX^ 

" ^ ^ t on ? ^ * 

* _r«S>< v . ^ «f» 

. 



•o o' 

^ ^ . 

> \~ ^ _ _ 

> V Y ♦fi' 4 k . 0 

* 'o v> *' " °/ > y ^ o 

", V A- ^ C* **t 

^ *\ v - .. ® v •• 

c5 <£, - ^=1 P=/ » *A^‘ '-?/> 

v? * V —- <*& * 'V 

. V L\ O y n . -fc a\ ^ J/ , ‘ \ O / 

,S *' ••*« -'o. .CV < « k ‘ « . "V * l '*« *0. 




‘3 

c 6 


-/■ 0 N >■' 

/, o. 

/ 

*<* 


■ *-•'/ / ■><,' 

^ '. ■■■•A 



‘ '< C> V * 

' ^ - 



I I ' s 

/-x O v S 

^ <§> 

: »4 1 V r ' i " z i 

, \ y <f> 

^ , “1/ ^^s.\r - * 

YY c° N ^ ^ 

l, ■> r-Jf-Cv ^ < J 

•s A v 

0 ‘ -> cA. ■ ^ / /, r. \> * ‘ " 'V ^ fV - 




^f0 V * C^NC J-t O 

Of c .. -V.,... -V ' ^ ^ J 


^ . * 1 fi ♦ . V f 0* 

^ ° 0 -V-. 

. o - r X v 

y “ V » /-r--ts-‘ cA ‘ : oo' 













^ ^ * 


- ^ j 

^ v' VV ^.o, ^>*'"* , 

^ *' 
vV'' ,J ?/i 

- ^V : v 





v> * ‘S 


* </ ONC. , vl - V 

, i rP » c _^ % 'Zc .a^ v \ 



C 


' ^ ^ 0° 

WIV^ ^ aN <*^rrs?-> + 

* %7/M > ■ " C .V 

ci* £ \ -J’) O y * o ,/, 

^ *..'• -* 0 s.., ^ / 

S) . s w '/ cv V * ^ *0/ 

r c5r * ^SSfei\ ^ .0^ *~J <\^' A * r ' 



V ^ 

^ 1 IS ^ 

<“ * , . s <\ O 

| N C *<V ' * * s A S UI. *Z* 

" -'^i .a v* <* * CJ. 

J* .s\^y^ •* ° U 



^ O*' 

y o, ^ a> <'^'*7 K 'Ts* a 

0 > c 0 N c * <6 ** A X 



*. ^v'"' • 4 <* A \ 

© js :^\ ' r /~ v 

<■ %nTlA « 

v 0 o 

r > * <\ 

» „ . , * .-.o 

V’ * * 6 0 /> 

* ’V <>\ 

s . 



° $ 

*7V 

/ 
v' * ' 






,0 v> 

VV - v< ( * 

" 1 (. *• * » 'l' ? N " \V v * ,. 

<V ,9 C- V «• °' 

,\ O X £#•• f '-. v X ^ . T* . $•' >1 * 

^ -<r' * *, V .AV * <IV$? 

z 





ft 

























HEROD ANTIPAS; 

SEQUEL TO 

Jferob t|jt <®nat, 

WITH PASSAGES FROM THE LIFE OF 



INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF THE RESIDENCE OF 


TIBERIUS CLESAR ON THE ISLAND OF CAPREiE. 


BY 



LLETT. 


“ Compared to the possession of that priceless treasure and happiness unspeakable, a skrkbct 
fatth, what baa Life to offer?”— Thackeray. 



NEW YOCRK: 


& 


1 8 6 6 , 



























3\ S 





I 




DEDICATION. 


THE WRITER DESIRES TO DEDICATE THIS WORK TO THE 

REV. HENRY J. FOX, 

(Of the Central M. E. Church of the 7th Avenue.) 

He would fain thus express the sense he has of his kindness, 
and the high esteem in which he holds his distinguished pulpit 
talents. May he himself have in his own soul a realization of 
the fact that Christ died, and rose again, and with invincible 
power from above, as well as cogency of argument, impress these 
ever-living truths upon the minds of his hearers. 

With a deep sense of obligation, and with true regard, with 
an earnest desire for his happiness and usefulness in the ministry, 
the writer begs of Mr. Fox to accept this testimonial of his re¬ 
gard and friendship. 

W. M. Willett. 





PREFACE. 


The present work, Herod Antipas, is the Sequel to Herod the 
Great. This was published some five years ago; the press, both 
secular and religious, spoke well of it, and the writer has been 
encouraged to issue a second volume. 

This book proceeds on the same general plan as the other; 
the current events of Roman history are placed side by side with 
those of Jewish history, and both are made in some measure to 
concentrate in Christ, and to illustrate and confirm his mission 
to our world. His youth and manhood are brought before the 
reader in connection with the times in which he lived, himself 
the great central figure of the group. Beside him on the canvas, 
amid the shifting Rcenes, how small appear the figures of other 
actors, however high their station, or important the parts which 
they may have performed in the world's drama of that period. 

i 

Granted that Christ lived, and all the facts of his history, inter¬ 
woven with the records of those days, follow of course. To 
exclude the supernatural from his history is to exclfi^ the sun 
from the world, and to say that there is no sun. The one i3 
about tho same as the other, equally as wise and philosophical. 
Thoro is a living history of Christ in every man’s hoart who bo- 
lievcs in his name; and, like the pyramids of the desert, this 



VI11 


PREFACE. 


history speaks for itself, rising high and. grand on the lonely 
waste of lifo, attesting his miraculous birth, and all the miracles 
that encircle his name. 

With the general narrative is interwoven more or less reference 
to the greatest of all human events in the world’s history—the 
reinstatement of the Jewish nation. This, the writer, without 
going out of his way, aims to keep more or less before the 
mind of the reader. 

The Christ of history, the Christ of this book, sustains a two¬ 
fold relation to that most remarkable people. He was “ set,” wo 
are told,* “for the fall and rising again of many in Israel.'’ 
That fall is an historical fact, illustrated by the national declen¬ 
sion and dispersion; and the prophecy is yet to be completed, 
in the future rising and restoration. Jesus, however despised by 
that nation, is to stand for an ensign of God’s chosen people.f 
The Jews are yet to regain their own land, and to take a fore¬ 
most stand among the nations of the earth ; but it will be through 
the Messiah, and this Messiah is “ Je3us of Nazareth.” 

Wm. M. Willett. 

New York, April, 1866. 


* Luke ii. 3. 


t Isaiah xi. 10. 


CONTENTS. 


« 

BOOK FIRST. 

Chap. I.—Archelaus. 13 

II. —The settlement in Nazareth. 25 

III. —Deposition of Archelaus. 29 

IV. —First Roman Governor (Procurator) in Judea. 34 

V—The First visit to the Temple. 35 

BOOK SECOND. 

Chap. I.—Tiberius admitted into copartnership with Augustus 47 

II.—Accession of Tiberius to the sole sovereignty of the 

Empire. 52 

III. —Death of Drusus . 61 

IV. —The departure of Tiberius from Rome. 67 

V. —The “ Voice of one crying in the wilderness’’. 72 

BOOK THIRD. ' 

Chap. I.—Sepphoris, capital of Galilee. 80 

II.—The building of Tiberias. 83 

HI.—Herod Agrippa invited to the Court of Herod Antipas 85 

IV.—Herod Antipas hears of John the Baptist. 87 

V,—Extent of the Tetrarchy of Herod Antipas. 91 
















X 


CONTENTS. 


/ 


BOOK FOURTH. 

Chap. I.—Tiberius in Campania . 96 

II. —Agrippina and her son Nero. 98 

III. —Tiberius on the Island of Capreae. 181 

IV. —Death of Livia. Agrippina and Nero voted Public 

Enemies. 104 

V. —The Baptism in the Jordan . 109 

VI.—The Conflict in the Wilderness... 118 

VIL—Jesus Presented to the People of Israel as their Messiah 
by his Forerunner, John the Baptist, in the presence 

of a deputation sent from the Sanhedrin . 124 

VIII.—The First Disciples. 132 

IX.—The Marriage in Cana of Galilee. 142 

BOOK FIFTH. 

Chap. 1.—Drusus, Second Son of Germanicus, declared an 

Enemy to the State. 148 

II.—Conspiracy of Sejanus. Plot and Counterplot . 151 

III.—Downfall and Death of Sejanus . 164 

IV.—Tiberius after the Death of Sejauus . 171 

BOOK SIXTH. 

Chap. I.—Christ in Jerusalem . 176 

II. —Jesus in the Temple . 180 

III. —The Kingdom of God . 185 

IV. —Christ in Galilee. 100 

V.—Faith. 10 ?, 

VI. —Jesus in Capernaum . 202 

VII, —A Sabha'h in Capernaum .. 208 






















CONTENTS. 


BOOK SEVENTH. 

Cha p. I.—Herod Antipas imprisons John the Baptist in the 

Castle of Machaerus. 219 

II.—John in Prison sends two of his Disciples to Jesus. 223 

III.—The Death of John the Baptist . 228 

BOOK EIGHTH. 

Chap. I.—Tiberins Leaves his Villa. 230 

II.—Tiberius Sails along the Campanian Shore. 234 . 

III. —Some Instances of the Cruelty of Tiberius during his 

residence on the Island of Capreac. 238 

IV. —Traits of Character, and certain Sayings and Doings of 

Tiberius . 246 

V. —Servility of the Roman Senate . 253 

Vr.—The Decadence of the Roman Empire... 2 

BOOK NINTH 

Chap. I.—Tetrarchy of Herod Philip. 266 

II.—Scene of the Loaves and fishes . 268 

III. —Attempt to make Jesus assume the Title of King of the 

Jews. 272 

IV. —Jesus in the Mountain and on the Sea. 278 

m.—Jesus the Living Bread. 281 

BOOK TENTH. 

Chap. I.—Rome during the Reign of Tiberius .. 287 

II.—Lex Majestatis. 298 

III.—Tiberius in his Solitary Retreat at Caprete. 303 


















I 


Xii CONTENTS. 


BOOK ELEVENTH. 

Chap. L —Herod Antipas hears of Jesus. The Resurrection of the 

Dead. 810 

II. —The Rose of Sharon. 314 

HI.—The Rock on which the Church is built. 320 

III. —Earth the Grand Theatre in which God designs to per¬ 

form His Greatest Works.... 326 


BOOK TWELFTH. 

Invocation . 332 

Chap. I.—The suffering of Death Foretold. 333 

II.—What Lies Back of or behind the Cross. 336 

IV.—The Cross. 340 

Epilogue. 345 











HEROD ANTI PAS. 


look Jfirst. 


CHAPTER I. 

ARCHELAUS. 

In the commencement of the preceding volume we 
mentioned the prediction of Menahem, one of the sect 
of the Essenes, as related by Josephus, the Jewish his¬ 
torian, foreshadowing the elevation of Herod, son of 
Antipater, to the throne of Judea.* Herod was a boy 
at the time, and on his way to school when the strange 
incident occurred. Strange as it was 'the prediction 
came to pass ; and by concurrence of extraordinary 
circumstances Herod was raised, to use the words of 
the historian,“from a private man to a king;’’ and after 
a long life checkered by vicissitudes, he transmitted 
his kingdom unimpaired to three of his sons,—Arche- 
laus, Herod Antipas and Philip. 


*Jos. Antiq. Book J5. chap. 10. sec. 5. 






14 


IIEROD ANTIPAS. 


To Archelaus, his eldest surviving son, he be¬ 
queathed, strictly speaking the kingdom of Judea. 

Herod died in his palace at Jericho. Here he drew 
his last expiring breath ; and, what is to be noted, in 
the immediate vicinity of that fair sheet of water in 
which the youthful high priest, Aristobulus, the bro¬ 
ther of his wife Mariamne, was drowned by a select 
band of soldiers, as if in sport, and by accident, but in 
reality by the secret contrivance of the jealous tyrant. 
From this hour he never knew peace,—consumed at 
the close of life bv an incurable and noisome disease, 
racked by pain without a moment's interval of ease: at 
times alarming the palace by his loud and agonizing 
cries. It is probable also that he was haunted by the 
memory of his first crime; and that the spectre of his 
murdered brother-in-law, with his flowing locks, and 
face of almost more than mortal beauty appeared before 
his distempered vision. At last death closed the con¬ 
flict ; upon a golden bier, embroidered with various pre¬ 
cious stones, the cold, lifeless body was placed; the 
bier and the body were “covered over with purple;” a 
sceptre was put in his right hand, a diadem on his 
brow, and a crown on his head.* All was still through¬ 
out the long corridors of the palace; it was as if its 
halls were empty; the wind whistled through the 
groves of myrtle and orange low and mournfully, and 
even the fountain played as in unison with the solemn 
scene. Death had entered the palace; he had affixed 
his signet on gateway, banqueting-room and terrace; and 


* Jos. Ant. Book 17. chap. 3. sec. 8. 





ARCHELAUS. 


15 


for a while he meant to hold high festival in the gar¬ 
nished chambers of the rich and great: to put his me¬ 
mentos in the houses even of kings. 

Salome, the sister of Herod, with Alexis her husband 
were the first to move. Before the death of Herod was 
known they released those that had been confined in the 
Hippodrome or Circus; and dismissed them in safety. 
Herod had ordered the principal men of the nation to 
assemble at Jericho; they were seized and put in con¬ 
finement in the Hippodrome, while he required of his 
sister and her husband that as soon as the breath left 
his body they should be put to death. This he did 
from a feeling of revenge, and to be mourned when he 
should die. It has so much the look of insanity, of a 
furious frenzy which had seized his mind, that, with all 
his crimes we are disposed to impute the mandate to a 
species of madness, and to cover this last wild act with 
the mantle of charity. 

And now Archelaus makes his appearance. He was 
present at the death of his father; as were also his 
brothers and other members of the family. The sol¬ 
diers were collected in the ampitheatre; and when 
Archelaus supported by Salome and her husband en¬ 
tered, he was received with acclamations; a letter from 
Herod to the different bands was read, thanking them for 
their fidelity, and recommending Archelaus. Ptolemy, 
who had the king’s seal, read the will. The whole 
was, for the present, satisfactorily arranged. The sol¬ 
diers would have had Archelaus assume the diadem at 


* Antiq. Book I. chap. 13. sec. 9. Jewish War, Book I. chap. 13. sec. 8. 



16 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


once; but he refused until the testament of his father 
should be confirmed by Caesar.* 

The funeral follows. Herodium is the place of se¬ 
pulture, a short distance from the city of Jerusalem; 
a city built by Herod* to commemorate his victory 
over the Parthians and Antigonus ; and, on this ac¬ 
count, as we judge, it was chosen as a suitable site for 
his family mausoleum. Close to the bier walked his 
numerous relations ; next in order came the bands of 
soldiers; first his body guard, then the Thracians, 
then the Galatians: five hundred attendants bearing 
spices closed the long funeral procession. By the nar¬ 
row defile that leads from Jericho to Jerusalem,—along 
which the army of Pompey once marched on its way to 
besiege the holy city,—with the sound of music, banner 
lowered and sword reversed—the cortege slowly moved. 
Emerging from the dark, overhanging defile their route 
lay southward, leaving to the right Jerusalem, with its 
gates, walls, towers and battlements, and the Temple 
glittering as molten silver in the sunshine : soon Hero¬ 
dium appears in sight, built on a hill, and adorned with 
a palace: gardens encircle the base of the mount on 
which it stands. Never was Herod in so great ex¬ 
tremity as at that particular crisis of his life when he 
fought and gained the battle which the city called after 
his own name immortalized; and where now his remains 
were deposited in hope, according to the doctrine of the 
Pharisees, of the resurrection of the dead. Perhaps, 
as the scene closed, and the mausoleum received his 


* Caesar Augustus. 







ARCHELAUS. 


IT 


body, divested of the splendid trappings of the burial— 
the descending sun may have shone forth in its glory, 
to be succeeded, after the transient twilight, by night — 
emblem of the evanescent nature of human grandeur. 

The solemn ceremony ended, Archelaus returned to 
Jerusalem ; and after the seven days of mourning were 
completed, he gave a great funeral feast, according to 
the custom—more honored in the breach than in the 
observance—of the Jews. Then he went up to the 
Temple, arrayed in a white garment, seated himself on 
a throne erected in the court of Israel, and addressed 
the people, assembled in large numbers within the sa¬ 
cred courts. Pleasure sat on every face; all rejoiced 
that the reign of ITerod was over, and hoped that the 
son would do better than the father. Archelaus himself 
was much gratified by the applause with which he had 
been received on the road, and as he entered the city 
and proceeded to the magnificent palace on Zion’s hill, 
—as also on this day when he came to the Temple. 
The people had thronged the streets, lined the thor¬ 
oughfares, blocked up the magnificent causeway that 
connected the hill of Zion with Mount Moriah, and as 
Archelaus passed along from the palace to the temple 
they had rent the air with, shouts. Archelaus spoke to 
the people with soft, persausive words, but in a general 
way; he did not give specific promises until reminded 
by his listeners. They loudly asked to be eased of 
their taxes; also for the release of political prisoners, 
and “ that he would take off the duties upon commodi¬ 
ties"'—the goods that were publicly sold and bought in 
the city. To these requests- rather demands—he as- 


18 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


sented, solicitous to keep the good will of the multitude, 
at least until Augustus should confirm his fathers will. 
Having thus received the sanction, not only of the sol- 
diery, but of the people, Archelaus offered sacrifice to 
God, agreeably to the custom of the Jews ; God was 
thus acknowledged as the sovereign ruler of the nation; 
God was the true source of power, and government 
must be administered in conformity with his will. The 
Jewish polity, truly divine, was based upon this idea. 

Elate with his reception, and pleased, on the whole, 
with what had transpired,—happy to find the people in 
good humor,—Archelaus returned to the palace; the 
semblance of mourning was laid aside; lights shined in 
portico and hall; a splendid entertainment was pre¬ 
pared for his friends. Of the guests, there were Salome 
and Alexis, Philip, his favorite brother, Ptolemy, one 
of his fathers chief friends, perhaps Herod Antipas, 
Herod Philip, with Rufus and Gratus, two of his princi¬ 
pal officers, with other commanders of his army, and 
chief men of his household. It was said that Arche¬ 
laus feasted some friends privately on the very night of 
the day in which his father died; this may, or may not 
have been. The charge was made by Antipater, the 
son of Salome, before Augustus. On the present occa¬ 
sion Archelaus did not deem it important to make even 
a pretence of grief. The scene was gay; the wine cup 
went round; and Archelaus supposed that the chief 
difficulties were already overcome—more readily per¬ 
haps than he had feared—knowing as he did the uncer¬ 
tain and easily excited mood of the people. 

The day was not destined to end as favorably as it 


ARCHELAUS. 


19 


began. There was a large body of the Jews in the 
city wholly opposed to Herod and his family; they 
would prefer even the government of the Romans. 
There were those who, if they must have a monarchy, 
chose Herod Antipas to his brother; Archelaus it was 
feared, would prove as cruel and as tyrannical as his 
father. There were those also who deeply resented 
the execution of the young men who a short time be¬ 
fore, had at mid-day from a false zeal pulled down the 
golden eagle from the gate of the temple, which Herod 
had dedicated to God. The case was this. 

There were two celebrated doctors in Jerusalem, Ju¬ 
das and Matthias, who incited their scholars to the act. 
They spoke of it as a pious deed; and for which it 
would be commendable to die. A report of the death 
of the king having reached the city, a large number of 
young men came together; the eagle was pulled down 
and cut into pieces with axes. Some forty of them 
were taken with the “authors of this bold attempt,” 
and were put to death. The people disclaimed any 
participation in w T hat had been done ; and allowed that 
those concerned were guilty of sacrilege toward God. 
The high priest, whose name also was Matthias, was 
deprived of his office, “ as in part an occasion of this 
action;” and Joazar was appointed to fill his place.* 
The zealots of this party, toward the evening of the 
day on which Archelaus had spoken in the temple, and 
while he feasted his friends, came to the palace: they 
were soon joined by crowds of the people; and the 


* Ant. Book 17. chap. 6. sec. 2, 3, 4.2 



20 


HE HOD ANTIPAS. 


hilarity of the feast was interrupted by demands for 
vengeance on all who acting officially had taken part- 
in the death of the two teachers, Judas and Matthias, 
and their scholars, as men unjustly condemned. They 
also clamored for the deposition of the new high priest, 
as a tool of Herod, and one unworthy to fill that high 
office. The multitude, moved by a sudden burst of pas¬ 
sion, began to lament the death of teachers held in high 
repute and greatly beloved. The young men were 
mourned; the feeling spread; and ere long the whole 
city was moved. Had they been required to analyse 
their feelings they could not have done so. To destroy 
the eagle was not only an affront to the king, and a piece 
of sacrilege under the name of piety, but was a seditious 
procedure, and had it not been repressed would have 
produced the most serious results. When did passion 
listen to reason? The cry of grief and passion was not 
confined to the relatives and friends of the deceased, 
but was taken up by the people at large; it became an 
exceeding loud cry, so as to be “heard all over the 
city.”* The other causes of discontent had their effect; 
and Archelaus soon found that the strong arm of his 
father was needed to govern a people so moody—whose 
humor changed with every passing hour, and who, 
hardly conscious of what they really desired, were, es¬ 
pecially at this period of their national existence, ever 
ripe for innovation. Their hearts were at fault; hav¬ 
ing as a people proved false in their allegiance to God 
they vainly looked for the correction or alleviation of 


♦Jewish War, book 1. chap. 2. sec. 2. 




ARCHELAUB. 


21 


their ills to some change of government, instead of sin¬ 
cere repentance for their sins and amendment of life. 
Had they read the writings of their prophets, and 
profiled by them, they would have found a speedy 
remedy for all the real or imaginary ills under which 
they labored. Neither did Archelaus know where to 
look for help: his education, partly Roman, partly Jew¬ 
ish, was defective. Though a Jew, he was not pious; 
he did not ask wisdom and strength of God. 

For the present the people were content thus to 
show their grief. After awhile they returned to their 
homes, and the remainder of the night was passed with-, 
out disturbance. But the spirit of disaffection was 
abroad. The concessions of Archelaus availed but 
little. To punish his father’s friends he would not com 
sent; but nothing short of this would sa'isfy the pop¬ 
ulace. They met in the squares, the temple; they 
would listen to no remonstrance; the passover was ap¬ 
proaching, and the city was filled; the lamentations for 
Judas and Matthias grew louder; sedition became more 
rife. When ordered to disperse they refused. They 
attacked those who were sent to calm their passions, 
and exhort them to moderation; till at last Archelaus, 
fearing a general insurrection, brought up a large force 
and in the fight that followed his soldiers slew three 
thousand men, and dispersed the rest. The festival was 
broken up, and by proclamation all were ordered tq 
return to their homes. Archelaus refrained from act¬ 
ing with severity as long as it was possible to do so. 
A sort of madness possessed the people; blind to con¬ 
sequences, restless, stirred by passion, they acted with 


22 


IIEROD AJNT1PAS. 


no forethought, and rushed on madly to their destruc¬ 
tion. 

The sedition which almost without cause had as-* 
sumed so threatening a form, having been quieted, Ar- 
chelaus set out for Rome. In the course of several 
months the will of Herod was ratified by Augustus, 
and Archelaus returned to Judea. The land during 
this time had been the scene of war, tumult, insurrec¬ 
tion. From one end to the other it w r as agitated, as the 
sea when moved by tempest, or as a forest shaken by 
the wind. All was commotion; wave followed wave; 
pent up passion burst forth as fire, sudden, violent, 
destructive. 

Sabinus, governor of Syria, under Yarus, (Quintilus 
Varus, who perished so miserably in Germany) pres¬ 
ident, was the cause of the first disturbance. Eager 
to enrich himself he hastened to Jerusalem, and op¬ 
pressed the people to such a degree that they rebelled. 
The feast of pentecost brought great numbers to the 
city: there were Galileans, Idumeans, many from Jer¬ 
icho and Perea; these all joined and besieged Sabinus 
in his palace. A battle ensued, in which the Jews after 
a hard struggle were defeated. In the fight the mag¬ 
nificent cloisters of the temple, so recently completed, 
were burned. Many perished on both sides. Still the 
Jews continued the siege, dug mines, and would ulti¬ 
mately have overpowered Sabinus, had not Yarus ar¬ 
rived with two legions from Syria, and with other auxil¬ 
iary forces. The approach of Yarus to Jerusalem 
with so large a force induced the Jews to disband; and 
Sabinus hastily leaving the city, Yarus took command. 


AROHKLAUS. 


28 


The war between the Jews and llomans was now soon 
closed. Some two thousand of those who were engaged 
in the insurrection were crucified. 

Other disturbances arose. In Idumea two thousand 
disbanded soldiers fought with Achiabus, llerod s first 
cousin. Their object was probably plunder, and they 
thought the present interregnum favorable for success. 
Achiabus held them in check until aid arrived and they 
were put down. In Galilee, one Judas, son of Ezekias, 
a robber, whom Herod had subdued with great diffi¬ 
culty, collected a multitude of men of a profligate 
character, and made his name a terror by his horrible 
atrocities. Marching to and fro, he slew, burned, and 
laid waste. He called himself king, and having en¬ 
tered Sepphoris, the principal city of Galilee, took 
possession of the palace, and armed his followers with 
the weapons that were laid up in it. Varus defeated 
this body; and as Sepphoris had participated in this 
insurrection, or at least in some way favored Judas and 
his followers, he burned the city and sold the inhab¬ 
itants for slaves. 

A man by the name of Simon, to whose care Herod 
had committed great things, a man of superior talents, 
and of an aspiring mind, “elevated at the disorderly 
state of things,” put a diadem on his head, set up 
himself also for king, and was supported by followers 
chiefly from Perea. He plundered and destroyed the 
palace at Jericho, and other residences of the late king. 
Gratus, one of the chief captains of Herod, attacked 
and defeated this body of men. Simon at first escaped, 
but was soon taken and slain. 


24 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


There was yet another, who amid the general confu¬ 
sion, aspired to the high distinction of ruler of the 
land. This man’s name was Ythronges, a shepherd by 
occupation, and he was supported by four brothers, 
who acted as his lieutenants. Their followers were 
very numerous. They made war both with the Romans 
and Jews. They kept together a long while, and acted 
with great barbarity. One by one they were overcome, 
each at the head of a separate body of men. One was 
subdued in a fight with Gratus, another with Ptolemy. 
Archelaus himself took the eldest prisoner; the last 
surviving brother voluntarily surrendered himself, upon 
the promise of Archelaus and oath to God to preserve 
his life.* 

At last the return of Archelaus from Rome, with 
full power to act, and with aid from the Romans, ena¬ 
bled him to heal these dissensions, to put down the 
seditious, and to restore order throughout Judea. Civil 
commotion having ceased, only the memory thereof, as 
a dark dream remained. A long period of peace fol¬ 
lowed, during which the way of the King of the East 
was prepared, and his great rule on our earth inaugu¬ 
rated. 


* Jos. Book xvii. chap. x. sec. 4, 5, 6, 7. 




SETTLEMENT IN NAZARETH. 


25 


CHAPTER n. 

THE SETTLEMENT IN NAZARETH. 

In the first year of the reign of Archelaus, the 
young child Jesus, with his parents, returned to 
the land of Israel. Probably a year or more was 
spent in Egypt. The voyage of Archelaus to Rome, 
his detention in that city, his return, occupied a num¬ 
ber of months at least. Herod himself lived some time 
after the flight into Egypt; so that we may fairly set 
down two years as the period of the sojourn of the Son 
of Man in his adopted country. The land which Abra¬ 
ham visited when sorely pressed by famine—in which 
Joseph rose to great power—where God displayed signs 
and wonders—the land in which under the Ptolemies 
the Israelites were so signally favored,—was destined 
to become a place of refuge to David’s appointed Son. 
Each link in the long chain must occupy its place; not 
one can be spared. The wrath of Herod is overruled, and 
the purposes of God are fulfilled. So it was when Jo¬ 
seph was sold into Egypt; a train was laid, a series of 
events following each other in regular order, by which 
the providence of God was to be vindicated, and his 
sovereignty asserted over the affairs of men. The cry 
of anguish in the pit went up to the ears of the Lord of 
Sabaoth, and was answered when he fed with food his 







26 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


father's family, found them a house in Goshen, and so 
opened the way for God to carry out in process of time 
his purpose to make of them a great nation. This pre¬ 
figured a greater event; Israel bears the charmed name 
of the son of God; it is so used as a fond appellation, 
first applied at the deliverance of God's chosen people 
from bondage in Egypt. With greater force it is ap¬ 
plied to the Son of Man,—that the prophecy of Hosea, 
spoken in a twofold sense, first of Israel, then of 
Christ, might be literally fulfilled—“ Out of Egypt have 
I called my Son. 5 '* It is all one plan; if, like Joseph’s 
coat, of many colors, of many varied parts, yet forming 
a complete whole, and showing it to be a plan unique, 
in every respect distinguished for its unequaled supe¬ 
riority. A plan running like threads through all time, 
weaving its changeless purpose from the beginning even 
to the end. Like the great sheet of flame of the prophet, 
which as it burned folded in upon itself till all was in a 
blaze, lighting up the heavens with glory, so the different 
parts of God’s plan of redemption take hold of one an¬ 
other; they work in an involved manner; they run into 
each other; they reflect light backward and forward, 
and in the end display the depth of the wisdom and 
power of God. 

There is a sense in which the child Jesus is Israel. 
He embodies all the hopes of Israel; he is the sum and 
center of all their sacred writings. He is the tie by 
which they are bound together as a nation—the secret 


* Hos. ch. xi. 1. 



SETTLEMENT IN NAZARETH. 


27 


tie—subject of mystery to so many eyes. At bis word 
they will awake from the deep sleep of ages, and expe¬ 
rience a more wonderful deliverance than when rescued 
from Egypt, and reach a higher destiny in the future 
than at any time they have attained in the far back and 
eventful past. 

The little company of three, the father, the mother, 
and the young child, two years of age, able to walk- 
alone, had reached the southern border of Judea, or of 
Idumea, as it was then called. Here they seem to 
have paused awhile debating in their minds whether or 
not to return to Bethlehem, the lot of their inheritance, 
and the place of the child’s birth. Archelaus had re¬ 
turned from Rome, and now ruled Judea. He had al¬ 
ready, as history shows, a reputation for cruelty, and it 
might not be so safe to venture within his jurisdic¬ 
tion. 

At present the whole land was before them, where to 
choose to dwell. There were few hindrances from civil 
commotion; Athronges and his brothers were not sub¬ 
dued, but they kept up a desultory warfare, carried on in 
the more remote parts: the other numerous pretenders 
to kingship had enjoyed their dignity but a little while, 
and had all perished. It is not at all unlikely that the 
knowledge of an expected king, looked for by all, had 
raised up recently so many pretenders to the crown; 
but their swift overthrow must have satisfied their fol¬ 
lowers that they had imposed on their credulity. They 
had passed away as a dream, they had vanished as 
smoke. How airy had been their hopes—how soon had 
their promises been falsified. Still there was ample 


28 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


ground for the general expectation, and the true King 
was not far off. 

Shall they return or not to the sacred spot whence 
they started? That is the proper patrimony of the 
house of David. A divine intimation, which came in 
the form of a dream, directed their return to the village 
of Nazareth; the village so honored of God, where Jo¬ 
seph and Mary were betrothed; where they had spent 
so many happy days—days of infancy and childhood— 
and amid whose surrounding hills Mary’s faith in God 
was nurtured—a faith which like that of Abraham did 
not stagger at the promise through unbelief—which in 
the darkest hour, and amid impossibilities, led the holy 
virgin to give glory to God. Immediately they set out. 
They chose the most retired route, though it is very 
likely the scenes of tumult, war and bloodshed, which 
had lately, like so many waves passed over the land, 
had diverted attention from the prevalent rumors re¬ 
specting the Messiah some two years before. 

See them, after so long and unlooked for an absence 
on their journey back to Nazareth. What an event 
had since occurred. What a series of events. At last 
they descry the village, embosomed amid hills. There 
is the fountain to which the ^pitcher has been so often 
carried,—but a little way from the village,—and there 
are the trees near the fountain, under whose umbrageous 
shade Joseph and Mary have often sat. Is this the 
house where the parents of Mary lived when the angel 
made his appearance with the most astonishing am 
nouncement ever conveyed to human ears? It is an 
angel from Heaven that speaks ! It is a youthfn; 


DEPOSITION OF ARCHELAUS. 


29 


maiden that mutely listens! Which is the room ? Let 
me enter that room—let me tread that floor. How si¬ 
lent it is; how sacred. Here communication was opened 
with the King of kings and the Lord of lords. 

A lamp burns there; it has been lit up from heaven. 
Will it ever go out? No; never. The parents re-enter 
the old abode with a joy inexpressible after their long, 
strange and eventful absence. They have with them 
the hope, the desire of nations; and when they review 
their way they see that every step which they have 
taken has been ordered by the Lord, and now they are 
safely home once more. 


CHAPTER III. 

DEPOSITION OF ARCHELAUS. 

Archelaus, under the title of Ethnarch, ruled Judea 
ten years. He rebuilt the royal palace at Jericho; he 
also built a city which he named after himself, Arche- 
lais. It was situated a few miles to the north of Jeri¬ 
cho* and added to the attractions of the plain. He 
was evidently pleased, as was his father before him, 
with this region as a residence during part of the year, 
when the great heats of the valley did not prevail. 


* Rob. Palestine vol. 2, p. 305. 






30 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


The valley of the Jordan, at this point is broad, and 
was then fertile in the highest degree. It was well 
watered. The palm groves were numerous, and extend¬ 
ed even to the banks of the Jordan. Delicious gardens 
were interspersed among the palm groves. The fig tree 
grew there and also the sycamore. There was heard 
the voice of the nightingale. Beside the palace Herod 
built a fortress called Cypros, after his mother; and 
erected yet other buildings which Archelaus enjoyed. 
Festive hours, we may be assured from his disposition, 
he spent here; perhaps rather pleased than otherwise 
to be thus far removed from the holy city. The fact 
that he lavished such large expense in reconstructing 
the palace which had been burned, and the erection of 
another city a short distance from Jericho, show, we 
think, the force of the attraction to this part of his eth- 
narchy. We may suppose him standing and surveying 
the workmen, listening to the sound of the hammer and 
the saw, as the marble pile rose from its ruins. All 
was activity then on this now solitary plain; of former 
sounds only the song of the nightingale is now heard by 
the traveler as he sits under a tree.* Of the former 
fertility chieliy thorny shrubs remain, t In the time of 
Archelaus all was so different. The time is at hand 
when its fertility will revive, and the silence of the de¬ 
serted plain will depart. God’s truth and power will 
be made manifest; and the children of Israel and the 
Gentile too will sit down side by side under the shade 
of the palm tree. 


* Rob. Pales, p. 282 t Itrid. p. 286. 



DEPOSITION OF ARCIIELAUS. 


31 


Archelaus married Glaphyra, the widow of his ill 
fated brother Alexander, having divorced his former 
wife Mariamne. Upon the death of her husband Gla-* 
phyra was sent hack by Herod to Archelaus her father 
in Cappadocia together with the portion she had 
brought his son; * afterward she married Juba, king 
of Lydia : upon his death, listening to the proposal of 
Archelaus, she returned to Judea, and though contrary 
to the Jewish law, the marriage took place, which was 
destined to be not of long continuance. 

When Archelaus returned from Eome he returned 
in anger. A deputation of Jews, consisting of fifty 
persons, was sent to Rome, to oppose Archelaus. Au¬ 
gustus gave them a hearing in the temple of Apollo, 
which he himself had built on the Palatine hill. It 
stood near the palace and the library. Here Augustus 
in the latter part of his life, occasionally, at least, met 
the senate. The deputation charged Archelaus with 
cruelty because by his order his soldiers assaulted 
and slew such numbers of Jews, and begged the em¬ 
peror not to give them a second tyrant in the son. 
Piqued by the charge, irritated by the opposition, es¬ 
pecially as he had already lightened so many of their 
burdens, Archelaus it is probable took his revenge up¬ 
on this party. After awhile he grew more cruel and 
unjust; both Jews and Samaritans turned against 
him. His treatment of his subjects was, we are told, 
“ barbarous and tyrannical ;” f and this was the 


* Antiq. book xvii. c. 1. 8. 1. 


t Antiq. book xvii. c. 13. 8. 2. 



32 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


more inexcusable as it is clear that the emperor had 
urged Archelaus to forget animosities and to govern 
with justice and moderation. He was promised if he 
did so additional favors; among others that he should 
receive the title of king. It is likely that Archelaus 
made fair promises; that he engaged to follow the ex* 
ample of the emperor, who for many years had pursued 
with the best results a kind and conciliatory policy. 

Augustus was greatly displeased when he heard that 
Archelaus, forgetful of his promises, unmindful of his 
engagements, disregarding the advice he had received, 
and which the emperor had given as a friend of his 
father, had by his conduct incurred the displeasure 
“both of his brethren and the principal men of Judea 
and Samaria.” Archelaus had in Rome a certain man, 
a steward, of the same name as himself, who saw to his 
interest in that city. This man was despatched in all 
haste to Judea. He arrived—found Archelaus feasting 
with his friends—and gave his message, which required 
his presence at Rome. Augustus did not punish him 
unheard. Angry as he was, he gave him a chance to 
clear himself. A sudden interruption to a feast was 
the verbal message which he received; for Augustus 
would not write to him. A dream which Archelaus 
had dreamed four nights before had given some fore¬ 
shadowing of this misfortune; he saw in his sleep ten 
ripe ears of corn, “which ears, as it seemed to him, 
w r ere devoured by oxen.” The dream troubled him; 
Simon, of the sect of the Essenes, said that the ten 
ears of corn denoted ten years, and that the time of 
Archelaus' government was over. On his arrival in 


DEPOSITION OF ARCHELAUS. 


33 


Rome he was brought face to face with his accusers. 
Unable to clear himself of the charges against him, he 
was deprived of his government, his property was con¬ 
fiscated, and he was banished to Vienne, a city of Gaul. 
He lost his wife Glaphyra about the same time. She 
died suddenly. It is related of her that shortly before 
she died she saw her first husband, the youthful Alex¬ 
ander, in a dream. She embraced him with great affec¬ 
tion; but he reproached her because she had married 
his brother, which was wrong in itself as well as con¬ 
trary to the laws of Moses. Still their former affection 
was not forgotten by Alexander, who said that she 
would soon rejoin him in another state. Glaphyra 
having told the dream to her female companions, died 
in a few days.* Archelaus, carrying with him painful 
memories, sensible that he had ruined himself, went 
alone into banishment—poor, unregretted. He received 
no more, we may well judge, than a just desert for his 
crimes. His deposition and banishment took place in 
the tenth year of his reign, and in the eighth year, 
according to the common reckoning, (in reality the 
twelfth) of the Christian era. 


* Antiq. book xviii. ch. 17. sec. 2, 4. 





34 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


CHAPTER IY. 


THE FIRST ROMAN GOVERNOR (PROCURATOR) IN JUDEA. 

An important change now occurred in the govern¬ 
ment of Judea. The civil magistracy passed out of the 
hands of the Jews into those of the Romans; Judea be¬ 
came a Roman province, and was annexed to Syria. 
Cyrenius, (in latin Quirinius)* a Roman senator who 
had been consul, was appointed president of Syria; 
and Coponius, a Roman of the equestrian order was 
appointed to act under him as governor of Judea. 
From this time “ the power of life and death was taken 
out of the hands of the Jews.”t Taxes were now levied 
directly by the Romans, though the “ description and 
registration of every man’s possession was made eleven 
years before by Sentius Saterninus.” $ These taxes 
occasioned considerable disturbance. There were Jews 
who thought it a violation of the law to pay taxes to a 
foreign king. One Judas, of Galilee, headed an insur¬ 
rectionary party, doubtless imagining that he would 
have divine assistance in a cause that he thought was 
so good; but he was soon cut off, and his followers 
were all suppressed. At this juncture the high priest 


* Publius Sulpitius Quirinius. 
f Prid, Con. Part 2, An. 8. { Ibid. An. 8. 





FIRST ROMAN GOVERNOR IN JUDEA. 


35 


Joazar, son of Boethus, used his good offices to in« 
duce the people to submit to what was unavoidable, and 
after awhile prevailed. For the present the disturbance 
subsided; but the notion that the Jews owed submis¬ 
sion to none but God remained as a germ of future evil 
in some overheated minds, and led ultimately to that 
fatal war with the Romans which terminated in the 
destruction of the city and temple, and the ruin and 
dispersion of the nation. This dispersion—the scatter¬ 
ing of this people over the earth—we see; we shall 
also see their return and re-establishment as a new na¬ 
tionality in their own land. The nation having acted a 
great part in former ages, will appear on the stage 
again, filling a wide space in the eyes of the world, and 
dispensing blessings to generations yet to come. On 
Zion’s hill will the standard be unfurled that will bring 
all the world to Christ, the predestined King of the 
whole earth. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE VISIT TO THE TEMPLE. 

The reader will recollect that ten years have elapsed, 
at the important point of time which we have now 
reached, since the return from Egypt, and the settle¬ 
ment in Nazareth. The country had remained quiet 
during all this period, save the recent insurrection 



HEROD ANTIPAS. 


ca 

uO 


which arose from the taxing; when that was over it re¬ 
turned to its former state of tranquility. The Jews 
submitted to the new order of things, and under the 
Romans the administration of government went on 
pretty much as before. The religious rites of the Jews 
were in no way interfered with; their solemn festivals 
were observed, and each year saw Jerusalem thronged 
with its votaries from every quarter of the world. By 
the transfer of their political constitution to the Ro¬ 
mans, the “sceptre’’ had already begun “to depart from 
Judah, and a lawgiver from between her feet,” * and 
a loud signal was thus given of the advent of the prom¬ 
ised Messiah—designated as Shiloh. This was a sig¬ 
nificant fact; one fitted to arrest the attention. For 
the first time in their history as a nation (if we except 
the brief rule of Antiochus Epiphanes)t a foreigner ex¬ 
ercised dominion over Judah proper; strange hands 
“ administered justice according to the laws of Rome, 
and the power of life and death was taken from them> 
and placed in a foreign governor.”t This was the be¬ 
ginning of the change; the entire political fabric was 
not overturned until the destruction of Jerusalem by 
litus, sixty-two years from this date. Neither sceptre 
nor lawgiver has been found among them since; § 
though the time is at hand when both will be restored 
and the question so long agitated between Jew and 

Gentile as to who is the Messiah will be finally deci¬ 
ded. 


* Gen. xlix. 10. f Prid. Con. p->rt ii. an. 8. 

X I’rid. Con. part ii. An. 8. § ibid. 







VISIT TO THE TEMPLE. 


37 


While the ten years were passing, and important 
changes taking place, the child Jesus was growing up 
in Nazareth. These years had put their mark on the 
face of the child; he had now reached his twelfth year. 
The family as yet was unbroken—the mother and father 
were both alive. 

Cyrenius, a Roman citizen of high dignty, it will 
be recollected, was the president of Syria, and Copo- 
nius was governor of Judea. As to the latter, either 
during this year or the next (he was governor but two 
years) of his administration, the Samaritan at the com¬ 
mencement of the feast of the passover insulted the 
Jews in a very malicious manner. It was customary 
during the feast to open the gates of the temple just 
after midnight; some Samaritans came privately to Je¬ 
rusalem, bringing with them dead mens’ bodies, and as 
soon as the gates were opened they entered, and un¬ 
seen threw them about in the cloisters. The Jews, 
as we may suppose, highly resented this sacriligious 
act, and “ afterward excluded the Samaritans from the 
temple, which they had not used to do at such festi¬ 
vals”* 

By this time we may suppose that the cloisters 
which had been burned during the war raised by the 
cupidity of Sabinus between the Jews and the Romans, 
had been repaired. Archelaus, who had built a new 
city and called it after his own name—who had rebuilt 
in a more magnificent manner than before the royal 
palace at Jericho—we may be pretty sure did not neg- 

——--- 

* Antiq. bookxviii. chap. 2. sec. 2. 






38 


IIEROD ANTIPAS. 


lect to restore tlie cloisters, so essential to tlie beauty 
and finish, of the temple. The time was ample to do 
this; and ere this year we may take it for granted 
that they were entirely completed. 

There is yet another point to be noted. The insur¬ 
rection that arose in consequence of the tax, brought 
Cyrenius from Syria to Jerusalem; and notwithstand¬ 
ing Joazar the high priest had done much to induce the 
people to submit to the tax, Cyrenius deposed him from 
that high office, and put in his place Annas, the son of 
Seth; who continued in the office several years. It 
was clear, indeed, that political power had departed 
from the nation when a foreign ruler could at his plea¬ 
sure interfere with the succession of the high priest¬ 
hood, and depose and appoint whom he pleased. 
Where was the sceptre of Israel now? During the sub¬ 
jection of the Jews to the Persians and Macedonians, 
as a rule, the high priest retained his office for life, and 
changes were not capriciously and arbitrarily made ; 
now every year or so there was a new high priest. The 
sanctity of the office was thus invaded; and regard 
was paid to the office not as an ordinance of God but 
as an institution of man. 

In the first year of the appointment of Annas, son of 
Seth, as high priest, not long ofter Coponius was made 
governor of Judea, and when Cyrenius was president of 
Syria, about four years before the dentil of Augustus 
Caesar, the mother and the father, with the young child 
Jesus, made their appearace in the holy city. 

The great annual festival of the passover brought the 
father and mother to the city, and on this occasion the 


THE VISIT TO THE TEMPLE. 


39 


child accompanied them; thereby fulfilling the word 
ot prophecy in relation to the present political condi¬ 
tion of Judea. 

The temple, recently rebuilt, and the cloisters re¬ 
paired, was perfectly magnificent. The white marble 
of which it was built, highly polished, and the golden 
pinnacles, glittered in the morning sun. Having been 
raised to its original altitude by Ilerod, the temple 
could be seen far off in the country; and when first de¬ 
scried by worshippers as they approached the city awa¬ 
kened admiration. The cloisters encircled the temple 
on every side; those on the south side, called the royal 
cloisters, consisted of three walks divided by immense 
pillars with their capitals sculptured after the Corinth¬ 
ian order. Each walk of this portico was thirty feet 
wide, and the hight was fifty feet. There were four 
rows of pillars; while “ the roofs were adorned with 
deep sculptures in wood, representing many sorts of 
figures.’ The eastern portico was adorned with valu¬ 
able and handsome gifts, “ given by many kings in for¬ 
mer timesand round about the entire temple were 
fixed “ the spoils taken from barbarous nations, which 
had been dedicated to the temple by Herod, with the 
addition of those he had taken from the Arabians.”* 
Along with many of their neighbors, friends and 
kinsfolk—a large company—the young child came with 
his parents this memorable year to the feast of the 
passover. It was, as we may suppose, his first official 
public appearance in the temple. This child was Shi- 


* Antiq. book xv. chap. 11. sec. 3. 



40 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


loh, and by his arrival at this remarkable conjunction 
of events, fulfils prophecy, and shows the prevision of 
God over the affairs of men. He came at the very mo¬ 
ment of time predicted so long before. Coponius him¬ 
self leaving Cesarea, the usual residence of the govern¬ 
or, was probably in the city during the feast, and his 
presence, and -that of this child,—or Shiloh,—were 
most significant facts; significant in an historical and 
prophetical sense. Since the Babylonian captivity the 
nation had advanced in prosperity; until within a few 
years it had stood firm, united; but from the coming 
of Shiloh, and the rule of the Romans, its downfall 
could be told by decades. The glory of the temple 
and the city was already passing away. 

How little are the ways of God like those of men. 
The presence of a child determines the fate of a nation. 
He rides on the tide of events, but a guiding hand 
arranges all. Persons and things of apparently little 
importance in the eyes of men are all important in the 
eyes of God. He works ofien by means that men over¬ 
look or despise. This child, twelve years of age, who 
notices him? Of what weight is that boy in the eyes 
of the learned doctors of the law ? What has his pre¬ 
sence here at this time to do with the political consti¬ 
tution of Judea? Yet God had a long time ago said 
that the one event should be identified with the other, 
and here is proof of the same. God has his own plan 
for working good out of evil—for overruling evil for 
good; and the presence of this child at this time is 
part of this plan. He has long since determined that 
the Jews shall be the chief instruments in his hands of 


THE VISIT TO THE TEMPLE 


41 


. salvation to our world; and this child is the son of Da¬ 
vid, the son of Abraham. The purposes of God for our 
world vest in the promise made to Abraham, and thence 
in a direct line backward through them to Adam. Do 
you imagine through all the seeming delay that God 
has forgotten his promise, and that he has ceased to 
remember his word ? Two thousand years or more are 
but a short time in his sight; and yet Jacob in dying 
saw the very political contingency that had now oc¬ 
curred. To make the thing more apparent, to unite it 
with the thread of history so that it could not be disen¬ 
tangled, Rome, the mistress of the world, was the un¬ 
witting agent employed to complete the word of proph¬ 
ecy. When Augustus sent Coponius as governor of 
Judea he little supposed that he was but an instrument 
raised up for this very purpose, to accomplish the un¬ 
changeable word of the omnipotent Jehovah. When he 
wrote his order annexing Judea to Syria, or issued the 
notification of the appointment of Coponius, he little 
thought ofthe great issues dependent on both one and 
the other. How* small are kings in all their greatness, 
when viewed in the light of God’s holy word, and how 
subordinate is their power to that of God. They do 
but rise and fall obedient to his will, and to advance his 
kino-dom—that kingdom which he is to erect in our 
world, and which is indeed to be universal. 

Next to the grandest event of time, the birth of 
Christ, (what was the creation of the world to this ?) is 
the appearance of Christ, that is the long looked for 
Shiloh, in the temple at this eventful passover. This is 
that to which too much importance cannot be attached 



42 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


You may attach too much importance to events that 
make a great noise in the world when they occur, but 
it is impossible to over-estimate the results that will 
flow in regular sequence from what we now contem¬ 
plate. And who is this child, who in company with his 
parents visits Jerusalem at this feast? We have the 
answer in the following words, and they fill the mind 
with the most exalted ideas. Indeed the mind is lost 
in the survey of the qualities here presented, and ap¬ 
plied to a human being. They apply, indeed, to the 
high and holy one who inhabiteth eternity. To whom 
else do such distinguishing epithets belong ? The 
words to which we refer, and which truly and properly 
belong to this child, read thus: 

“Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, 
and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and 
his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The 
mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of 
Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace 
there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and 
upon his kingdom, to order it and to establish it with 
judgment and with justice from henceforth even forever. 
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this."** 

As, then, we look upon this child, we must unques¬ 
tionably connect with his person and his presence at 
the feast the word of prophecy. Whatever might be 
his intellectual gifts, the grace of his manner, his per¬ 
sonal beauty—whatever the promise of his boyhood— 
these words betoken a something far beyond the great- 


* Isa. ix. 0,7. 





VISIT TO THE TEMPLE. 


43 


est earthly gifts and accomplishments. It is well to 
dwell upon these words as we view this boy moving to 
and fro during the days of the feast. We may ask our¬ 
selves what do they mean? What is their purport? 
Do they refer to this child ? Do they point to him as the 
promised Shiloh, the Messiah, the long looked for king 
of the Jews? He was to be born of a virgin; the place 
his birth, long before that event, had been designated 
as Bethlehem, and he was to be the Son of David. All 
these marks this boy bears: and now at the early age 
of twelve he is seen in the temple, participator with his 
parents of the rites of the feast—partaking of the pass- 
over with them—eating with them on the first day of 
unleavened bread the sacrificial lamb. 

That he knows his own mission who can doubt? He 
had not to come to the knowledge of it by degrees. It 
did not open to his mind by little and little, as day 
slowly opens. He had a full perception of what it im¬ 
plied from the first. This is evident from his own 
words in reply to his mother, who expressed the grief 
that she and his father had felt owing to his absence 
and their separation from him. Remember, it is a child 
twelve years of age speaking to his parents : “ How is 

it that ye sought me ?” As if he had said, “ Ye should 
have given yourselves no concern respecting me. I am 
perfectly safe. Ye should have known this.” Then he 
adds, “Wist ye not that I must be about my Fathers 
business ?”* 

These words were spoken, it should be remembered, 


* Luke ii. 19. 





4-1 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


in one of the rooms of the temple. There were a num¬ 
ber of rooms for different purposes, which were con¬ 
nected with and opened upon the different courts. 
There was one on the east end of the sanctuary, called 
Gazeth, where the Sanhedrin sat.* This room was 
partly within the sanctuary, and partly without. It 
was perhaps the very place where these words were 
spoken—and spoken in the presence of the Jewish doc¬ 
tors. 

They did not understand the import of the words, 
neither did his parents. The language showed his own 
prescience. It was the answer of one whose “ under¬ 
standing and answers” had filled the whole assembly 
with surprise. They conveyed no disrespect; but they 
brought out luminously his wonderful character; and 
should be regarded as a commentary on the words of 
the prophet: “his name shall be called Wonderful, 
counsellor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, 
the Prince of Peace.” His business, what was it? 
Whatever it was, we may be fully assured of this, that 
it could be accomplished by none but God. lie' who 
built the earth and the skies could alone do what this 
child asseverated that he had come into the world to do. 

“ 4 -it 

We read of this child, that “ the government shall be 
upon his shoulder .” What government? That of the 
universe. What of the kingdom that he has come into 
our world to establish—of that universal empire which 
during the days of the Roman empire Daniel said was 
to be set up by the God of heaven, and which should 


* Prid. Plan of the temple according to Josephus and the Talmud. 





THE VISIT TO THE TEMPLE. 


45 


never be destroyed ?* The kingdom was to be that of 
David, set up anew on our earth. It is of this the in¬ 
spired prophet speaks when connecting the child of ten 
years with its future glory, prosperity and power, he 
says, “ Of the increase of his government and peace 
there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and 
upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with 
judgment and with justice from henceforth even for¬ 
ever.” 

Thus we have a glimpse of the rays of glory that 
surround the head of this child. Having darted one 
ray of excessive brightness upon those who witnessed 
the interview between the parents and the son, he 
withdrew from the public stage, and was once more 
hidden in the obscurity of the village of Nazareth. 
Those shades received him once more,—those rural 
scenes; that fountain near the village. Years passed 
away; not a sound issued from thence. The world 
changed rulers; Tiberius Ciesar meanwhile succeeded 
Augustus, but he who according to the tradition cur- 
rent in those days was to be “ king of the whole earth,” 
remained in privacy. At twelve he spoke with the 
tone and authority of a king, yea, of the King of kings 
and Lord of lords, the glory shone forth for a moment. 
He became after this subject to his parents, giving an 
example of filial docility and obedience—the most per¬ 
fect obedience—which from its loveliness commanded 
universal esteem and love. 

Memorable days; days of childhood and youth! We 


* Dan. ii. 44. 




40 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


may imagine something of the early days of Moses and 
Samuel, those great instruments in forwarding the king¬ 
dom of God upon the earth. They grew up filled with 
wisdom and with grace, and conscious of the high des¬ 
tiny to which they were called. So of this child; the 
grace of God was upon him; he was filled with heav¬ 
enly wisdom. In the early morning, as the dew lay 
upon the grass, he walked forth ; at noon under the 
shade of some tree he sat down; at evening he breathed 
the fragrant air, and surveyed the clear sky, and the 
stars shining in the firmament, and communed in si¬ 
lence. Fourteen years were thus passed,—till the voice 
of his forerunner was heard, “crying in the wilderness,” 
re-affirming what has been already implied, if not ex¬ 
pressly stated, that God was in our world : “ Prepare ye 
the way of the Lord, (Jehovah) make straight in the 
desert a highway for our God.”* 


* Isaiah xl. 3. 



JiBERIUS CAESAR. 


47 


Sool Sitonb. 


CHAPTER I. 

A. L'. 12.-TIBERIUS ADMITTED INTO CO-PARTNERSHIP WITH 

AUGUSTUS: 

FROM HENCE THE FIFTEENTH YEAR OF TIBERIUS MENTIONED 
IN THE GOSPEL OF ST. LUKE, IS TO BE RECKONED.^ 

Seven years prior to the time mentioned in this chap¬ 
ter, Tiberius Nero Caesar, had returned from the island 
of Rhodes, where he had spent nearly eight years, to 
the city of Rome. At the time of his return he was 
forty-six years of age. When he voluntarily exiled 
himself from Rome and went to Rhodes, it was very 
much against the wishes of his mother Livia and Au- 
gustus. Augustus complained of him to the senate, 
and said that he was deserted by his step-son. “ The 
earnest entreaties of his mother” made no impression. 
Upon their persisting in the design of detaining him he 
refused to take any sustenance for four days together”! 
He left Rome for the island of Rhodes one year before 


* Prld. Con. Part 2, An. 12. 


f Seut. Life of Tiberius, sec. 10. 




48 


HSROD ANTIP*«. 


the birth of Christ; and consequently toward the close 
of the reign of Ilerod the Great. 

As a military tribune, as commander in various wars 
as governor of the province of Gallia Comata, he had, 
acquitted himself with great credit. When he returned 
from his wars he entered the city with an ovation, and 
riding in a chariot, and is said by some to have been 
the first that ever was honored with this distinction.* 

At Rhodes he led a quiet and retired life. “ The 
pleasantness and healthiness of the island” influenced 
him to choose it as a place of residence. “He content¬ 
ed himself with a small house, and a villa not much 
larger, near the town. He was a constant attendant 
upon the schools and lecture rooms of the professors of 
the liberal arts.” Tiberius was addicted to the study of 
astrology, and under Thrasyllus the astrologer he indul¬ 
ged his inclination on the island. It is said of this 
Thrasyllus, that upon sight of the ship which brought 
the intelligence that Tiberius might return to Rome, 
(his mother had with difficulty gained the consent of 
Augustus, who would hardly forgive his departure) he 
said “ good news was coming”! 

Tiberius left the island with confident hopes of his 
future elevation. These hopes, we are told, had been 
nourished in him from childhood. We may easily sup¬ 
pose that his mother, after she became the wife of Au¬ 
gustus, encouraged these aspirations. Her heart was 
bound up in this son, and she labored assiduously for 
his advancement. At the time of his leaving Rhodes 


* Suet. Tib. sec. 9. 


f Ibid. sec. 14. 




TIBERIUS C.<ESAR. 


49 


all the auguries portended greatness, and full of hope, he 
re-entered the city. lie took up his residence first in 
a street called Carinoe, in Pompey's house, and after¬ 
wards removed to the gardens of Mecaenas, on the Es- 
quiline, living in retirement, “ without any preferment 
in the government.” The auspices did not speak in 
vain. About the time of his return died both Caius 
Caesar and Lucius his brother: Caius Caesar of a wound 
which he had received in Armenia; Lucius Caesar died 
at Marseilles, on his way to Spain. These two young 
men, so early cut off, were the sons of Marcus Agrippa, 
by Julia, daughter of Augustus. As they were the 
grandsons of Augustus, he had adopted and intended 
them for his successors in the empire.* 

In the second year of the reign of Archelaus in Judea, 
Caius Caesar, being then only nineteen years of age, 
set out for the east. He went first to Egypt, thence to 
Judea, passing through the city of Jerusalem. Unlike 
his father, M. Agrippa, who, as we stated in our for¬ 
mer volume,f offered sacrifices with no common solem¬ 
nity in the Jewish temple to the God of the Jews , this 
young man, his son, would not pay his devotions at 
Jerusalem.-! This neglect may have proceeded from his 
irreligion, rather than from want of respect to the Jews; 
for both Caius and his brother Lucius led loose lives, 
to the grief and displeasure of Augustus.^ His career 
m the east was short, as he died in his twenty-third 
year; his brother Lucius died the preceding year. 


* Tac. An. b. i. c. 3. t Herod the Great, page 
J Suet. Life of Augustus Caesar, sec. 93. $ Dion. Cassius, vol.JI. p. 167. 





50 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


They died within eighteen months of each other. Thus 
these two young men who, according to the Roman law, 
were the same as sons, (for the Roman law made no dif¬ 
ference between adoption and natural filiation) passed 
away, and left the empire open to Tiberius. 

There was, it* is true, another son of Agrippa still 
living, called Posthumus Agrippa, because he was born 
after the death of his father. This young man was 
about sixteen years of age at the time he was adopted 
in the forum by Augustus along with his step-son Ti - 
berius,* but displeasing his father by his “coarse and 
unruly temper,'’ he w T as confined at Surrentum.t This 
left Tiberius free and unfettered, with the empire in full 
view. 

The adoption of Tiberius into the Caesarean family by 
Augustus, took place in the seventh year of the reign 
of Arclielaus in Judea. At the same time Augustus 
required Tiberius to adopt Germanicus, the eldest son 
of his brother Claudius Drusus; a young man of the 
greatest promise, and dearly beloved by the Roman 
people. 

As the first mark of distinguished favor, and clearly 
pointing out the future emperor, “ the tribunitian au¬ 
thority was conferred upon him for five years.” 

About the time of the deposition of Archelaus, and 
when the sovereignty of Judea was passing away, Tibe¬ 
rius went over to superintend the war in Illyricum. This 
proved to be very serious, and three years elapsed be¬ 
fore it was concluded. Tiberius conducted this dan- 


* Suet. Aug. sec. 65. 


f Ibid. 




TIBEKIUS CAESAR. 


51 


gerous war with admirable skill and prudence. He was 
a good general; there can be no question as to this. In 
one of his letters, written during these campaigns, Au¬ 
gustus speaks of his step-son as an “ accomplished gen¬ 
eral.” In another letter he says, “In truth, my dear 
Tiberius, I do not think that amidst so many difficulties, 
and with an army so little disposed for action, any one 
could have behaved more prudently than you have 
done.” He brought the war in Illyricum to a success¬ 
ful close. 

The three years spent by Tiberius in this war corres¬ 
pond nearly to the two years of the government of 
Judea by Coponius, and the first year of that of Marcus 
Ambivius, who succeeded Coponius. 

Having returned to Rome from Illyricum, the next 
year he went into Germany, to repair as far as possible 
the loss of three legions under Quintilius Varus, and 
to wipe off the disgrace of the Roman arms. After 
two years he returned, and entered the city in tri¬ 
umph. Having reached the foot of the Capitoline hill, 
“ before he turned to ascend the capitol, he alighted 
and knelt before his father, who sat by to superintend 
the solemnity.”* 

We have now reached that most interesting period, 
the year twelve of the commonly received era, when 
Augustus, always of a delicate constitution, and bend¬ 
ing under the weight of seventy-three years, admitted Ti¬ 
berius to share with him the sovereignty. This was 
ratified by a decree of the senate and people of Rome, 


* Suet. Tib. Sec. 20. 



52 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


and from this point of time Tiberius Caesar commenced 
his reign—a reign which was rendered eventful by its 
connexion with Christ. 


CHAPTER II. 

ACCESSION OF TIBERIUS TO THE SOLE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE 

EMPIRE. 

A. U. C. 767.—A. D. H. 

One step more and Tiberius Caesar would reach the 
hight of power, with no one to question his right as 
sole, supreme, absolute master of the Roman world 
This was a pinnacle high enough to make any one’s 
head dizzy. In the the third year of his co-partnership 
with Augustus, the death of the emperor, in the year of 
Christ 14, raised him to this exalted dignity. He was 
in Illyricum when urgent word from his mother, Livia, 
came for his return. The report of the death of Augus¬ 
tus, and the proclamation which announced Tiber inn as 
his successor, were issued at the same time.* Tiberius 
was fifty-five years old when he entered on this suc¬ 
cession. 

The story of domestic intrigue commences from this 
this point. Agrippa Posthumus was still alive; dread¬ 
ed as a rival, he must be removed. He was at this 


* Tac. An. book 5, sec. 5. 





ACCESSION OF TIBERIUS TO THE SOLE SOVEREIGNTY. 63 

time twenty-five years old. He had been banished to 
the little is and of Planasia, near the coast of Etruria 
in the Tuscan sea. “In praise of this young man,” 
says Tacitus, “ much cannot be said: he was a stran¬ 
ger to the liberal arts, uncouth, unformed, and stupidly 
valuing himself on his bodily strength; yet free from 
vice, or the imputation or crime.”* A centurion was 
sent to the island immediately upon the death of Au¬ 
gustus, and, after a severe struggle, slew the last sur¬ 
viving son of M. Agrippa, son-in-law and friend of the 
late emperor. Livia did not escape censure, as having 
been accessory to the deaths of Caius and Lucius. It is 
not at all likely that she w T as concerned in the early 
decease of these young men; but there is little or no 
doubt that Tiberius and Livia were accomplices in the 
murder of the youthful Agrippa. The murder f was 
hushed up; no inquiry was made by the senate, though 
at first Tiberius threatened to refer it to that body. 
Prudential considerations, urged by his minister, Sal- 
lustius Crispus, induced him to desist. 

Except in the armies in Pannonia and Germany, 
the accession of Tiberius, though perhaps unwelcome, 
was followed by no commotion. The senate, the chief 
men, and the people on the whole, gave in their adhe¬ 
rence without delay. The consuls for this year first 
took the oath of allegiance to Tiberius; they were fol¬ 
lowed by Scius Strabo, and Caius Turranius, the latter 
an old and particular friend of Augustus. 

Tiberius assumed at once all the outward signs of- 


* Tac. An. book 5, sec. 3. 


f Ibid. sec. 6, 



54 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


power, while before the senate he acted as though un¬ 
decided whether to accept the empire or not. Tnis 
did not long last. He soon relinquished his feigned re¬ 
luctance, and became the third emperor in order in the 
line of the Caesars. Julius Caesar was the first; Caesar 
Augustus the second; and Tiberius Nero Caesar, the 
present emperor, the third. In the days of these three 
monarchs was the foundation laid of a kingdom that the 
Hod of heaven would establish in our earth; the broad 
and deep foundation of a glorious kingdom was then laid; 
the pinnacles and towers of its capitol are yet to be seen 
rising high in the sky; a nation will be born in a day, 
and the lustre of Rome in her proudest days, when, ac¬ 
cording to the calculations of some writers, she num¬ 
bered four millions of inhabitants,* will be eclipsed. 

We will cast an eye upon the family group of the 
royal palace, on the Palatine hill, the whole of which 
was occupied as the residence of the prince,—with its 
temple, theatre, museum or library, and extensive gar¬ 
dens. The situation was airy, pleasant healthful. Au¬ 
gustus, so long a resident of the palace, had psssed 
away, but a large family remained. Here was Livia, 
who, having been adopted into the Julian family, was 
also called Julia. She had also the additional title of 
Augusta. At this time she was sixty-seven years of 
age. She was married in her-youth to Tiberius Nero, 
by whom she had two sons, Tiberius Nero, and Claudius 
Drusus. Both Livia and her husband belonged to the 
Claudian family, one of the most ancient and honorable 


* The Caesars. De Quincy, who contests the point stoutly. 




ACCESSION OF TIBERIUS TO THE FULL SOVEREIGNTY. 55 

of Rome. Amid the disorder occasioned bj the civil 
war her husband had sided with the losing party; but 
afterward having become reconciled to Augustus, Livia, 
while her husband was still alive, was married to the 
emperor. She was young and beautiful at the time of 
her marriage, (if that sacred word may be applied in 
such a case*). Augustus, deeply enamored, hesitated 
at nothing. Inauspicious as such nuptials might well 
be deemed, Livia, by a wise woman-craft,t as she termed 
it, always maintained her ascendancy. Next to the 
possession of power herself, it was her most earnest 
wish that her son should succeed his step-father. Au¬ 
gustus was very desirous of issue by Livia, but was dis¬ 
appointed. 

Livia meant to rule conjointly with her son; at first 
her name appeared in public acts and decrees in connex¬ 
ion with his; but Tiberius soon became dissatisfied with 
this arrangement and withdrew his confidence from his 
mother by degrees. Dissensions soon arose between 
the mother and son, which ended in their complete es¬ 
trangement. Owing to her love of rule, and the impe¬ 
riousness of her disposition, (this trait of character she 
contrived to hide from Augustus) her exclusion from 
the government, and the bounds set to her influence 
must have been severely felt. The murder of Agrip- 
pa Posthumous was probably brought home to her 
bosom by the marked ingratitude of her son. The dis¬ 
ruption did not occur at first; Tiberius resided in the 


* The Caesars. De Quine)’, p. 78. 
f Dion Cassius, vol. i, p. 239. 



56 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


palace, and the empress mother—Julia Augusta—pre¬ 
sided as in the past. 

There was another widow, a resident of the palace 
at the time of the death of Augustus, whose pure and 
estimable character reminded of the matrons of Rome 
of an earlier day. This w T as the younger Antonia, widow 
of Claudius Drusus, brother of Tiberius. Antonia was 
the daughter of Mark Antony and Octavia, sister of 
Augustus. There were two sisters of the same name— 
this was the younger of the two. Germanicus, the idol 
of the Roman people, was her son; she had a daughter 
by the name of Livia, or Livilla. Antonia was a partic¬ 
ular friend of Berenice, the mother of king Agrippa. 
After the death of Berenice, who died at Rome, she 
showed that she was a friend, for the mother’s sake, to 
the son in the days of his distress and poverty. The 
friendship of Antonia was firm and lasting. She would 
not listen to the proposal of a second marriage; she 
remained faithful to the memory of Drusus, and was, on 
this account, greatly honored. She retained the confi¬ 
dence of Tiberius to the end of his life. Whoever else 
he might distrust, he confided in the unswerving integ¬ 
rity and sincere friendship of his brother’s widow 7 , An¬ 
tonia the younger, his sister-in-law. 

Tiberius, in his prime, is thus described by Suetoni¬ 
us. “ In person he was large and robust, of a stature 
somewhat above the common size; broad in the shoul¬ 
ders and chest, and proportionable in the rest of his 
frame. He v T as of-a fair complexion, and w T ore his hair 
so long behind that it covered his neck. He had a 
handsome face, but it was often full of pimples. His 


ACCESSION OF TIBERIUS TO THE SOLE SOVEREIGNTY. 57 


eyes were large. He walked with his neck stiff and 
upright; generally with a frowning countenance, being 
for the most part silent’ 5 * At the time of his accession 
to the empire he had changed; his personal appearance 
was not so good ; the face was not so fair; the form 
was not so erect; his head was more or less bald; the 
flowing hair, falling on his neck, “ which was observed 
to be a mark of distinction by the Claudian family,” 
was gone. Ten years later, when he was about sixty- 
seven years of age, Tacitus speaks of his figure as ema¬ 
ciated, his body sinking under the weight of years, and 
his face disfigured by blotches covered with medical 
applications, t 

Julia, his wife, the daughter of Augustus, still lived 
in banishment on the island of Pandataria, in the Tuscan 
sea. She was the second wife of Tiberius; his first 
wife was Yipsania Agrippina, daughter of M. Agrippa 
by his first wife, Pomponia. For reasons of state policy, 
Augustus, after the death of Agrippa, compelled his 
step-son to divorce Yipsania, and to marry Julia. Pas¬ 
sionately attached to Yipsania, disliking Julia, he was 
nevertheless forced to yield. During the stay of Tibe¬ 
rius at Rhodes, the conduct of Julia was so disgraceful, 
she lived so flagitious a life, without even attempting to 
veil her vices from public view, that a bill of divorce was 
sent to Tiberius by Augustus, and the unfortunate wo¬ 
man banished from Rome, to which she never returned. 
Tiberius, pitiless when he possessed full power, during 
the first year of his reign [A. D. 14.] ordered her to be 


* Sec. 68. 


f An. book iv. sec. 57. 




58 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


stoned to death. Julia was the daughter of Augustus 
by Scr.bonia, whom he divorced when he forcibly took 
Livia from her husband, Tiberius Nero, and they were 
married. Such was the unhappy end of Julia, only 
child of Augustus. To the divorce of Scribonia by 
Augustus, to gratify an unbridled passion, reasoning 
by analogy in the absence of facts, we might venture to 
trace the sad life of his daughter, to some extent, at 
least, as its first source. Nursed in luxury, surround¬ 
ed by the pomp of power from infancy, her will almost 
a law,—the wretched Julia, daughter of the master of 
the world, perished miserably in exile. 

Two other inmates of the palace at this time, we may 
mention: Drusus, the son of the emperor, and his 
young wife, Livia, or Livilla, sister of Germanicus, and 
daughter of Antonia the younger. This Livia had al¬ 
ready been married to Caius Caesar; upon his death 
she married Drusus. Dark is the tale connected with 
her tragic history, illumined with not a ray of light. A 3 
for Germanicus, he was commander of the legions on 
the Rhine; his wife, Agrippina was with him. 

There was yet another resident of the palace, Claudi¬ 
us, (Tiberius Claudius Drusus Caesar) afterwards empe¬ 
ror, he was of an infirm mind and sickly constitution, 
and was but little noticed. 

Already on the front steps of the palace, if not yet 
admitted into the confidence of Tiberius, stood iElius 
Sejanus, destined to succeed Sallustius Crispus, the 
minister then in favor. He was, in this early stage of his 
career, all pliancy; modest and of insinuating manners; 
but very diligent and attentive to his duties. Outwardly 


ACCESSION OP TIBERIUS TO THE SOLE SOVEREIGNTY. 59 

unaspiring,—devoted to the prince—regulating even his 
looks by what he knew of the emperor’s character, he 
worked his way into his confidence, until he gained an 
entire ascendancy over his affections.* 

Ihere were also two boys in the palace, walking in 
its long corridors, playing in the garden, wandering 
in its labyrinthine walks, listening to the play of the 
fountain—who from their relation to Augustus, in case 
of certain contingencies, might one day become heirs of 
the empire. The names of the two lads were Nero and 
Drusus, the sons of Germanicus. The youngest was 
nine years of age, the eldest a year or two older, and 
who was of a pleasing and amiable disposition. Ger¬ 
manicus had a third son, named Caius Caligula, but he 
was with his father and mother with the legions on the 
Rhine. 

For the present all was calm and peaceful in the 
palace. In the beginning Tiberius conceded much to 
his mother; Drusus did not yet feel the overshadowing 
influence of Sejanus. Drusus the son, and Germanicus 
the adopted son of the emperor, were regarded as his 
successors. All seemed settled, and as if the future 
might move along with a regular and even pace. Even 
the empress mother was strong and vigorous ; in the 
full possession of all her faculties, and promising to 
survive many years. Her understanding was excellent, 
and Augustus had derived important advantages from 
her advice. 

The funeral is over. Livia had spent five days of 


1 


* Tac. An. book iv. sec. 1. 



60 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


mourning in the vicinity of the sepulchre on the 
Campus Martius which had received her husband’s 
remains.* Tiberius is now established in the em¬ 
pire, he gives the watchword to the guards ; he is at¬ 
tended to and from the senate by soldiers; the tramp of 
the sentry is heard in front of the palace; all things 
proceed as before. On the winding steps of the palace, 
under the high portico, facing the Via Sacra, is seen 
the tall, robust figure of Tiberius; but the genial man¬ 
ner of Augustus is not there. Tiberius is cold, distant, 
reserved. When he speaks he speaks slowly, accompa¬ 
nying his words with a slight gesticulation of his fin¬ 
gers. 1 

Tiberius, for two years after his accession to the em¬ 
pire, did not leave Rome. During the dissensions in the 
army he pretended that he would leave either for Pan- 
nonia or the Rhine, but he did not go. The people 
complained much, but he put them off with specious 
excuses for delay, until Germanicus on the Rhine, and 
his son Drusus whom he sent from Rome to Pannoniaj 
on hearing of the insurrection there, had quieted them. 

When at length he did leave Rome, he made short ex¬ 
cursions to some of the neighboring towns ; he did not 
go farther than Antium at any time, a city on the sea 
coast, about thirty English miles from Rome, a favorite 
place of resort. The dust, the heat, the sickliness of 
the months of August and September were gladly ex¬ 
changed by the wealthy persons of Rome for the invig¬ 
orating breezes of the sea coast. 


* Dion. Cassius, vol. i. p 


f Suet. Tib. sec. G3. 



DEATH OF DRUSUS. 


61 


Arrived at the acme of human power we might sup¬ 
pose Tiberius would be at rest. Far from it. He looked 
at Germanicus with an envious eye; his exploits and 
popularity filled him with jealouS dread. Livia shared 
in this feeling; and both mother and son during the life 
ol Germanicus had one tie in common—the fear of this 
rising young man. While he lived the mother and son 
could not afford to break out into an open rupture. 


CHAPTER II. 

DEATH OF DRUSUS. 

For ‘the space of nine years, from the accession of 
Tiberius, all things moved on smoothly in Rome. Tibe¬ 
rius continued to enjoy good health; his son Drusus 
survived, though Germanicus was dead. He died in 
the east, a. d. 19, not without suspicion of poison.— 
Great was the general grief at his death ; Rome was 
wrapped in mourning. He possessed every quality that 
could engage the affections or command the respect of 
men. He was universally beloved. On the day of his 
funeral all Rome attended the interment; his mother 
Antonia, however, with Tiberius and the empress, re¬ 
mained secluded in the palace; they did not join the 
funeral procession, and were not found among the 
mo rners. Of the grief of Antonia at the loss of such a 
son, no one doubted ; but few believed that Tiberius or 



62 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


his mother sincerely regretted the loss. They made a 
show of grief, but in their hearts were glad to be rid of 
a dreaded and hated rival. 

Three or four more years passed on; Drusus still 
lived; and was the sole avowed heir of the empire. In 
the meanwhile a new man, by name iElius Sejanus, 
who was from Vulsinii, a city of Etruria, had become 
all powerful. He was the son of Scius Strabo, a Roman 
knight.* In early life he attached himself to Cains Cae¬ 
sar. His father had commanded the praetorian guards, 
and when he was made prefect of Egypt, his son was 
appointed in his place. He collected the praetorian 
bands, till that time quartered in various parts of Rome, 
formed them into one corps, and placed them outside 
the walls of the city.t He himself appointed the tri¬ 
bunes and centurions ; and “ by affability and caresses’’ 
he gained the affections of the soldiers. He sought also 
to gain the senate, and to make that body subservient 
to his will by bribery and favors. Those that were 
friendly to him, paid him court and sufficiently flattered 
his inordinate vanity, or promoted his ambitious aims, 
rose to favor, and obtained important commands. Those 
who were opposed to his administration were treated as 
enemies; and his wrath was deadly. In the course of 
time he so entirely gained the confidence of Tiberius, 
that overlooking Drusus, his ow T n son, and heir of the 
empire, in his ordinary conversation he spoke of Seja- 
nus as his associate in the cares of government, and 
used the same language even to the senate. His images 


* Tao. An. book iv. sec. 1. 


f Ibid. sec. 2. 





death of drusus. 


63 


also were placed in the theatre, the forum, the camps; 
in the principia , the place appropriated to the stand¬ 
ards of the legions.* 

No levee was crowded like that of Sejanus. The 
first men of the city came in crowds; even that of the 
emperor was not so well attended. Even the consuls 
brought to him the communications they intended to 
present to the emperor,f so that nothing in the form of 
letters, petitions or communications, could reach the 
emperor which he did not approve. His hand was eve¬ 
ry where; his eye was upon all. It is true the pros¬ 
perity of Sejanus excited envy. Tiberius says himself 
that there were those who complained that Sejanus had 
“ already soared above the equestrian rank, and that he 
enjoyed higher tavor than was ever exercised either by 
Mecaenas or Agrippa. 'f 

Of those who felt deeply, and resented keenly, this 
undue elevation to the imperial family of a stranger—a 
man born not in Rome but in an obscure province, was 
Drusus, the son of the emperor. Neither was he afraid 
to speak; he spoke openly and constantly. He took 
no pains to conceal his thoughts. High spirited, with¬ 
out the least fear, he called him an “ upstart,” and de¬ 
nounced his ambitious views. Drusus was offended, 
also, with his father, and said, that “ though he had a 
son to succeed him, he preferred a stranger to a share 
in the administration.” They had numerous alterca¬ 
tions ; and once, Drusus having raised his hand, the 
minister, advancing forward, received a blow in his face. 


* Tac. An. b. iv. sec. 2. t Dion. Cas. vol, i. p,23l, | Tac. An. b. iv. 6oc. 4f«, 





HEKOD ANTIPAS. 


CA 

Nothing could exceed the resentment of Sejantm.- 
His pride was deeply wounded* 

There was Livia, the wife of Drusus. When young 
she was not handsome, but “ she Was now grown up in 
the most perfect form of regular beauty.”* She Was a 
mother. Four years before she was delivered of two 
sons at a birth. This had transported Tiberius with 
joy, who, highly superstitious, regarded the event as an 
omen of good, and said that “so singular a blessing had 
never happened to any Roman of equal dignity.” Thus 
already was the empire established not only in Drusus, 
her husband, but in his children. A few r years would 
place her husband at the head of the empire; and she 
would attain the high dignity that the elder Livia now 
enjoyed. Her rank also was illustrious of itself; she 
was niece of Augustus, sister to Germanicus, daughter- 
in-law of Tiberius. She was indeed of the highest rank; 
blessed with children; with every grace of person and 
manner; surrounded by all earthly good. A model of all 
that was good, pure and estimable in every relation of 
life, she possessed in her mother, Antonia ; while her 
brother, Germanicus, had left behind a name hardly se¬ 
cond to any in the annals of Rome. There were also the 
smiles, and soft, playful endearments of her two little 
sons to win the mothers heart. What age when child¬ 
hood is more interesting than that which her children 
had reached. What bright hopes were theirs—what 
high honors would fall to their share as soon as they 
should assume the manly gown, and be presented by 


* Tac. An. book iv. sec. 3. 






DEATH OF DRUSUS. 


65 


their father in the forum to the people as princes of 
the empire. 

It was upon Livia—the mother, the wife, the future 
empress—that Sejanus fixed his eye. He had the art 
to gain her affections; she yielded to his seductions, 
and dishonored her husband, her family, and her own 
illustrious name. She fell a victim to the arts of an 
accomplished seducer; or else, injured by the evil ex¬ 
ample of the court, led away by passion, she,like Julia, 
was prepared beforehand for an adulterous connexion. 
As to ambition, what had Sejanus to offer—allowing 
that he should succeed in his attempt upon the empire 
at the death of Tiberius—which she did not already 
possess ? 

This first step in a dark domestic drama was kept 
completely concealed; no suspicion seems to have been 
awakened. The curtain rises, and discloses a still dark¬ 
er scene. Livia, led along from one step to another, 
(when does guilt stop in its career?) was induced to 
commit yet another crime; she joined Sejanus to mur¬ 
der her husband. Sejanus now plainly showed his 
hand; he had resolved upon the empire, whoever stood 
in the way. Livia should yet share not only his bed— 
but the empire ; but for this end, Drusus, her husband, 
must be first put out of the way. The confidential 
physician of Livia, by name Eudemus, was taken into 
the secret; and a poison, “ operating as a slow corro¬ 
sive,” was prepared; and Lygdus the eunuch was se¬ 
lected to administer the draught. But on the eve of 
the crime they hesitated. “The magnitude of the crime 
filled their minds with terror: they fluctuated between 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


f>6 

opposite counsels; they resolved; they hesitated; delay 
and doubt, and confusion, followed.”* 

But Drusus’ outspoken words his fierce resentment, 
the violence of his opposition, at length led them to act; 
the draught was administered by the eunuch Lygdus, 
and brought on “ the symptoms of a natural disorder.” 
During the illness of Drusus, Tiberius was not alarmed, 
and went as usual to the senate. At length his son 
died; and so perfectly natural were the symptoms, that 
none supposed that he had come to his end by violence. 
The murder was thus successfully accomplished, and 
the chief obstacle in the way of the future elevation of 
Sejanus to the empire was removed. 

The death of Drusus, son of Tiberius, and heir of the 
Roman empire, occurred in the twenty-third year of the 
Christian era, and about three years before the voice 
of the forerunner of Christ was heard in the land of 
J udea. 


* Tac. An. book iv. sec. 3. 





DEPARTURE OF TIBERIUS. 


67 


CHAPTER III. 


THE DEPARTURE OF TIBERIUS FROM ROME. 

Three years more glided away without any marked 
events, though Tiberius, chiefly instigated by Sejanus, 
began to show the innate cruelty of his nature. The 
dark days of Rome had come, and many were the inno¬ 
cent victims destined to fall beneath the hand of vio¬ 
lence. Tiberius himself had resentments to gratify; so 
had his minister—and fears also. What was called the 
law of violated majesty was made free use of, and words 
spoken to the disadvantage of Augustus or Tiberius 
were treated as capital crimes; sometimes actions also, 
perfectly innocent in themselves, were construed so as 
to reflect upon the imperial dignity of Augustus or his 
step-son. When other causes of condemnation were 
lacking, they could never fail to find under the law of 
violated majesty some pretext to put a man to death, if 
the emperor or his minister had so predetermined. 

A case that arose under this law, so arbitrary and 
uncertain in its character, in the early part of the reign 
of Tiberius, will illustrate its nature and operation. 
Apuleia Varilia, grand-niece of Augustus, was charged 
with using defamatory w T ords of the emperor, and also 
of Tiberius and his mother. Tiberius directed the sen¬ 
ate to distinguish between calumnious language spoken 


68 


HEROD A NTT PAS. 


of Augustus, and that which was spoken of himself and 
of his mother. If Varilia had spoken irreverent words 
against Augustus, the law must take its course, but if 
against himself or his mother, her personalities might 
pass with impunity. Yarilia was acquitted on the law of 
majesty.* The reader will notice that they were words, 
not actions against the government, that were made 
the ground of a capital accusation. Tiberius had the 
j-ood sense on several other occasions beside the above, 
not to press this law, but he was not always equally 
scrupulous. Sejanus, also, under the cover of this law, 
put many an innocent man to death; it was an easy 
way of getting rid of his enemies. It created informers 
who preyed upon the body politic; these became a nu¬ 
merous class; they obtained wealth and distinction in 
their infamous profession. Tiberius encouraged the 
whole tribe; he thought them necessary to the safety 
of the state. They were the fruitful source of endless 
ills. They in time covered Rome with an almost im¬ 
penetrable cloud; confidence and joy departed from so¬ 
ciety. Spies lurked everywhere in ambush, and some¬ 
times plots were laid to entrap men in their words 
when they thought that they were unbosoming them¬ 
selves to dear friends. This law, suspended over every 
man’s head, as by a thread, the sword of Damocles. The 
days of terror and anguish were at hand. 

But it was only step by step that the dark days 
came. After the death of Drusus, however, the evil 
lpade rapid strides. 


Tao. An. book ii. sec. 50. 





DEPARTURE OF TIBERIUS. 


69 


Drusus dead, Tiberius introduced the two sons of Ger- 
manicus, Nero and Drusus, both quite young, to the sen¬ 
ate, and spoke of them as the future stay of the empire. 
The prospects of these young men were bright, but 
they were soon overclouded. They were in the way of 
Sejanus, and he soon found means to awaken distrust in 
the heart of Tiberius, and to lead him to think that they 
were conspiring against him. The year following the 
death of Drusus, [a. d. 24], the pontiffs, and the other 
orders of the priesthood, thinking to please the emperor, 
when they offered up the usual prayers, on the first 
day of the new year, for Tiberius, at the same time 
mentioned the names of the two young princes, Nero 
and Drusus.* This filled Tiberius with ire. He con¬ 
sidered it as a reflection upon himself, and also cal¬ 
culated to have a bad effect upon the minds of the 
young men. It was the aim of Sejanus to keep them 
out of sight as much as possible. To Tiberius he said 
that the partisans of Agrippina and her son were al¬ 
ready numerous, and that unless some of the leaders of 
her party were cut off, the discord would increase, and 
danger, even to the emperor would ensue. Tiberius too 
easily inclined his ear to the malicious insinuations of 
the minister; and as the result of this determination, 
Caius Silius, who had distinguished himself under Ger- 
manicus, and Sosia Galla, his wife, a particular friend 
of Agrippina’s, were marked for destruction. There 
was no real crime charged against Silius; “ the prosecu¬ 
tion went altogethea on the crime of violated majesty.” 


♦ Tac, An. book iv. eec, 4-. 




70 


HKROD AN'I'lPAS. 


Silius, seeing himself condemned beforehand, pnt an 
end to his life. Sosia was banished.* 

Two years having passed since the death of her hus¬ 
band, Livia [a. d. 25) became extremely solicitious for 
the consummation of her marriage with Sejanus. Urged 
by her importunities, yet on account of his guilt partly 
fearing to move in the matter, Sejanus was at last em¬ 
boldened to ask permission of the emperor to marry the 
widow of Drusus. 

He received but little encouragement from Tiberi¬ 
us, and, alarmed, did not farther urge his suit. This 
was no doubt a great disappointment to Livia, but she 
was compelled to submit. The will of Tiberius was 
law ; and the marriage was necessarily deferred to a 
more convenient opportunity. The non-compliance of 
the emperor filled the favorite with fear lest his influ¬ 
ence was on the wane. His guilty mind also exaggera¬ 
ted the danger. It was not so great as he thought; 
the dread secret, confined to four persons, was well 
kept; considerations of prudence, of domestic policy, 
chiefly weighed with Tiberius. He little thought that 
the petitioner who expressed such an attachment to his 
person, who made no account “of rank or splendor.’ 
who, as a “common sentinel, sought no higher honor 
than to guard the life of his sovereign,”! had already 
imbrued his hands in the blood of his son, seduced his 
daughter-in-law, and was now engaged in a new conspi¬ 
racy to take off by foul means the sons of Germanieus, 
the remaining heirs of the empire, that he might him- 


* Tac. An, book iv. sec. 18,19. 


t Ibid. b. iv. see. 39. 







DEPARTURE OF TIBERIUS. 


71 


self attain the supreme power. Successful crime en¬ 
couraged him to proceed in his guilty career, and to 
stop at nothing that would help him to accomplish his 
daring purpose. 

The more effectually to conceal his plans, and, if pos¬ 
sible, hold a yet greater sway over the emperor, he 
proposed to him to leave the city of Rome, and retire 
to some sequestered spot, and “to lead a life of ease 
and solitary pleasure.” The proposal suited exactly 
the wishes of the emperor, and he resolved to do so. 
Soon after, [a. d. 26], Tiberius availing himself of the 
pretence of consecrating two temples, one to Jupiter at 
Capua, and another to Augustus at Kola, withdrew to 
Campania, with a small and select retinue, secret!) pur¬ 
posing in his heart not again to re-enter the gates of 
the city; a resolution which he steadfastly kept. 

This was the very year made memorable in all histo¬ 
ry, when John the Baptist, the forerunner of Christ, 
having until now been hidden from public notice in the 
wilderness of Judea, made his appearance in the valley 
of the Jordan, journeying up and down on the banks of 
the sacred stream, and announced that the kingdom of. 
heaven was at hand. This was a note of warning even 
to the Roman empire, and to all the kingdoms of the 
earth, that God was about to give unto the new-born 
“King of the Jews,” as the magi styled him at his birth, 
“ the throne of his father David.”* He was about to as¬ 
cend that throne, (passing through death, and drawing 
his title as “ Prince of the kings of the earth/'t from the 


* Luke ch. i. 33. 


f Rev. i. 5. 



72 


IIEROD ANTIPAS. 


grave) to 44 reign over the liousc of Israel forever 
while of his kingdom there should be no end. ’* 

This year, also, it will be remembered, was the fif¬ 
teenth of Tiberius, from the time that he was admitted 
to reign in co-partnership with Augustus, and there¬ 
in the gospel of Jesus Christ had its beginning; for 
Christ appeared for the revealing of his gospel first 
by this his messenger sent before his face to prepare 
the way for his personal appearance; which was accor¬ 
dingly made by him three years and a half after.! 


CHAPTER IV. 

“the voice of one crying in the wilderness.” 

A. D. 26. 


While such deep gloom was settling over the house 
of Tiberius Caesar—while Livia, the empress mother 
still lived, and Tiberius himself, at the age of sixty-sev¬ 
en, was leaving Rome to seek a home elsewhere, during 
the last half of his reign of twenty-two years—while 
discord was rife within the palace, and Sejanus the 
minister was secretly instigating the emperor against 
his grandsons and their mother, Agrippina, widow of 
Germanicus—a different scene was opening in the land 
of Judea. Prophecy had long ago declared that during 


i* Luke, ch. i. 33. 


t Prid. Con. an. 26. 





THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 


73 


the ascendancy of the Roman empire the God of heaven 
would set up a kingdom, which, rising above the vicis¬ 
situdes of time, should not be left to other people; and 
which, in process of time, with an irresistible force 
should break in pieces and consume all the kingdoms 
of the world, while itself should stand forever.* The 
time for the opening of a series of events, following each 
other in long succession, all of which would in regular 
order tend to the establishment of this kingdom, had at 
last arrived; and “the great series of ages,” sung by 
the Roman poet had at last commenced.t But as the 
great oak from an acorn grows slowly, and becomes not 
in a day the monarch of the forest, so it would require 
time to lay the foundations of this new and heavenly 
kingdom; and ages must elapse ere it spreads over the 
entire earth, and tills with its glory the world. It is to 
be built on a basis different from that of the kingdoms 
of the earth, and to draw its lustre from a new source. 
Its triumph was designed to be the triumph of righteous¬ 
ness in our world; of peace, not of war; of true, not 
false glory The wreath that it would braid would be 
immortal. 

The forerunner who was to announce the speedy ap¬ 
proach of the destined “King of the earth,” (under this 
title Roman historians tell us that he was looked for) 
after a long period of seclusion, suddenly and abruptly as 
his namesake Elijah, made his appearance in the land 
of Israel, in the twenty-second year (according to the 
received chronology,) of the Christian era. It was in 


* Dan. ii. 44. 


f Virg. 4th Eclogue. 






74 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


reality the thirtieth year, as Dionysius Exiguus, who 
introduced it in the sixth century, made a mistake, pla¬ 
cing the beginning of it four years too late.* 

Judea at this time enjoyed a profound peace; as did 
nearly if not quite all of the provinces of the Roman 
empire. It was the policy of Tiberius to cultivate 
peace; if war at times broke out during his reign, it 
was to suppress insurrection, not to extend his con¬ 
quests. The wars were few and short during his entire 
reisjn. Judea, with the occasional outbreaks that we 
have already mentioned, had scarcely a ripple to dis¬ 
turb its tranquillity. This state of things was pecu¬ 
liarly favorable to the first preaching of the gospel; 
and strongly contrasted with the troublesome times that 
followed. A single legion was sufficient, and more than 
sufficient for Judea, during the ministry of John and 
Christ. While there were at this time eight legions on 
the Rhine, “ in that vast extent of country which 
stretches from Syria to the Euphrates, bordering on the 
confines of Iberia, Abania, and other states under the 
protection of the Roman arms,”1 but four legions were 
required to maintain the rights of the empire. Thus 
tranquil was the whole East at this most eventful pe¬ 
riod, while Judea was pre-eminently so. The way of 
the King of Peace in the east was prepared by the pa¬ 
cific policy of Tiberius, and in this he did but imitate 
Augustus. 

At this, favorable juncture in Jewish history, and in 
some respects, of the history of the world—at this sin- 


* Prid. Con. An. 1. 


t Tac. An. book iv. sec. 6. 




THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 75 

gularly striking prophetical era—tho precursor of the 
King of all the earth, in other words, of the Jewish Mes¬ 
siah, stepped upon the stage, and opened more fully 
than it had been opened before, the counsel of God in 
regard to his method for the removal of evil from our 
world, and filling it with the knowledge of himself. It 
was a grand crisis in the history of the world, and was 
designed to show, in the clearest manner possible, thot 
the “ foolishness of God is wiser than man, and the 
weakness of God stronger than man.” The whole plan, 
its conception and incipiency, in its progress and results, 
baffles human thought, and confounds the pride of the 
human understanding:. 

When John preached, the great point that was re¬ 
quired was faith in a Messiah soon to appear—when 
Christ preached, it was that the Messiah had now ap¬ 
peared. The whole turned on this: this would revolu¬ 
tionize the world; overturn sooner or later the kingdoms 
of the earth; and in the end establish government univer¬ 
sally on the basis of the recognition of God—his super¬ 
vision of the affairs of men, whether small or great, anti 
the ascription of glory to God alone. It is not difficult 
to see that the idea of progress, as developed in the 
Bible, lies in the knowledge of God; 'and this in a sense 
deep, high, intimate. It is a knowledge of God similar 
to that which you obtain by familiar communication; 
by seeing another daily; by an interchange of views ,* 
by the examination of character in many lights, and 
from various points of view. Real progress, in the Bi¬ 
ble, is not ascribed to the arts and sciences, to the de¬ 
velopment of the intellect; it is the instruction of the 


/ 


HEROf) aNTIPAS. 


70 

soul in righteousness: in other words it consists in the 
knowledge of God. 

Faith in God is the key-note of the Bible. This 
word, and this alone, like the trumpet of old, when used 
by one prophetically inspired, gives a certain sound. 

The precursor of Christ stood on this ground. What 
was there in relation to himself—his birth—conception 
—the announcement in the temple to his father, Zacha- 
rias—that was not preternatural. You must either al¬ 
low this, or rule away all the facts. There is no alterna¬ 
tive. You must likewise go backward, and rule away 
the predictions which preceded his birth; that of the 
prophet Ma.achi, and that of the prophet Isaiah. You 
must also explain the coincidence of prophecy—the 
voice that was to issue from the wilderness—with the 
fact that John, the precursor of Christ, resided in the' 
deserts till the day of his showing unto Israel. By this 
designation, also, he was mentioned by Christ, when, in 
eulogy of John the Baptist, he cried to the people of 
Israel, “What went ye out into the wilderness to see?” 
A man of uncertain character—some false pretender 
like Judas of Gallilee—some aspirant for the favor of 
earthly monarchs? Not at all—but really and truly a 
prophet—such as had appeared in the earlier stages of 
Jewish history; a man clothed with divine power, and 
filled with the spirit of prophecy. 

There is, beside, to be taken into the account, the 
purity of John’s character. Josephus, the Jewish his¬ 
torian describes the prophet who, he says, was “called 
the Baptist," as a “good man;” and as one who com- 


THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 77 

manded the Jews to “exercise virtue, both as to right¬ 
eousness toward one another, and piety toward God, and 
so to come to baptism.” He also speaks of his death 
under Herod Antipas; condemns Herod for the act; 
and asserts that in his war with Arotas, king of Arabia, 
he was defeated, in the opinion of the people, as a mark 
of God’s displeasure to him.* 

It is to be remembered, also, the very deep impres¬ 
sion produced by the circumstances of his birth upon 
the minds of those who became acquainted with them, 
as the wonderful narrative was noised abroad, carried 
on the tongues of those who dwelt in Hebron and the 
adjacent country. A strange fear fell upon men; such 
a fear as arises when God makes some marvellous dis¬ 
play of his power and glory in a manner so evident as 
not to be questioned. They were filled with wonder ! 
they anticipated great events. They said one to ano¬ 
ther, looking on in amazement, “ What manner of child 
will this be!” The concatenation of events was such 
that no flaw could be detected. The past and the pre¬ 
sent, the voice of prophecy, and angelic ministration, 
were united in the child; and all set their seal upon his 
birth as extraordinary in the highest degree. Then 
there was the youth of the child, as he grew up, in hap¬ 
py consonance with all the rest. How grave, holy, and 
sweet was his youth ! At a certain age, taught of God, 
and led by the Spirit, (the hand of God was on the 
child), he took up his abode in the wilderness. His life 
was not only solitary, but, according to the vow of the 


* 


* Antiq. book xviii. c. v. sec. 2. 


1 









78 


HER or ANTIPAS. 


Nazarite, it was most abstemious: so that it was said 
of‘ him by Christ, in view of his entire abstinence from 
wine and strong drink, and the plainness of his fare, 
that John, his precursor, came “neither eating nor 
drinking.” 

It should also be remembered whose reign upon our 
earth his baptism and ministry were designed to inau¬ 
gurate. His father, at the time of his circumcision, 
called him “ the prophet of the Highest.” What stron¬ 
ger language than this could he have used?—“The 
prophet of the Highest!” He was chosen to introduce 
God into the world ; to make real the highest flights of 
poetry ; and to give to faith ground on which to stand, 
when told that God, incarnated, will, to use the language 
of Virgil, “ remove every vestige of guilt from our 
earth, and release it from fear forever.”* 

Dreams ot glory, visions of brightness, were before 
the mind <>1 the prophet. The earth will be released 
from fear; every vestige of guilt will be removed. “The 
earth, as her first offerings, will pour forth everywhere, 
without culture, creeping ivy, with lady’s-glove, and 
Egyptian beans with smiling acanthus intermixed. The 
Assyrian spikenard shall grow in every soil.”f A wave 
of glory and of smiling peace will pass over the earth, 
and the prophet of the Highest foresees this as the hap¬ 
py result of the new age of which he is the appointed 
harbinger. Who is to do this work? How is it to be 
done? God is to take the great work in his own 
hands; and, as in the ancient days, to roll back the 


* Virg. 4Hi Eclogue. 


t Ibid. 





THE VOICE IN THE. WILDERNESS. 


.7 7 


sea, and to bring his people once more to the heritage 
of their fathers. 

Never was man more fully impressed with the great¬ 
ness of his work than John, the harbinger of Christ, 
and of the millenial age of our world. He knew well 
whom he preceded. “ He that cometh from above,” said 
he, “ is above all.” Who can be higher than the High¬ 
est? ’Who can be above him, who is above all? He 
—a mortal worm—is not to be named in the same 
breath with one who is so much greater—so much 
mightier. He is not fit to loose his shoes from his 
feet. Would it be proper to speak thus in the way of 
comparison of any creature however exalted? Surely 
not. The work itself is such as G-od only can do. Is 
it not a work worthy of the great Creator? And as 
in the beginning of the creation, the sons of God sang 
for joy, and the morning stars were glad, what will be 
the jov in that happy day when God shall anew plant 
the heavens, and lay the foundations of the earth, and 
sav unto Zion, “ Thou art my people.*” 


Isaiah li. 16. 




80 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


t 




CHAPTER I. 

SEPPHORIS, CAPITAL OF GALILEE. 

On the south side of the large and beautiful plain of 
Zebulon, on an insulated hill stood the city of Sepphoris,* 
the capital of Galilee. It stood nearly on a line with 
Tiberias and Ptolemais, and was about half way be- 
tween the two. It was some twenty-five miles from 
Ptolemais, and commanded a view of the Mediterranean 
Sea, and of Mount Carmel, “the only great promontory 
upon the low coast of Palestine, and, beyond all com¬ 
parison, the finest mountain in the Holy Land.”f As 
to size, Sepphoris was the largest city in Galilee.l It 
was, also, a strongly fortified city; and as the residence 
of the Tetrarch of Galilee, Herod Antipas, was adorned 
with fine buildings; among others there was the royal 
palace. Though “ during the ten thousand disorders in 


* Durb. Trav. in the East, vol. ii. p. 34, 38. 
f Stephens’ Trav. in the Holy Land, vol ii p. 271. 
} Jewish W'ar, book iii. eh 2 sec 4 






SEPPHORIS, CAPITAL OF GALILEE. 


81 


Judea” which followed the death of Herod the Great, 
Sepphoris was burned by Quintilius Varus, and many 
of its inhabitants sold into slavery, yet in the many 
years that had since elapsed, the city had been repaired, 
by Herod Antipas, and re-peopled. Perhaps, as Herod 
Antipas was on the most friendly terms with Tiberius 
Caesar, many, if not all of those who were sold into ca| - 
tivity, during the war, had been redeemed, and had re¬ 
turned to their own city. For the space of twenty-five 
years, since those disastrous days, Sepphoris had met 
with no drawback, and was now overflowing with pop¬ 
ulation. The plain, on one end of which it stood, was 
highly fertile; it opened upon that of Acre, or Ptolemaic, 
which reached to the sea. Field succeeded to field; 
the villages were numerous, and very populous,— so 
that from the city to the sea all was fair and flourish¬ 
ing- 

In a south-easterly direction from Sepphoris was Na¬ 
zareth, separated from it by an intervening hill.* Here 
had dwelt, during the entire period of the ethnarchy of 
Herod Antipas, from the time of his entering on his 
government un il now, [a. d. 26], ‘ k Jesus, the son of Jo¬ 
seph.” But a short distance—not over a mile and a 
halff—was this quiet, secluded village from the large, 
bustling, populous city, with its strong citadel, its high 
walls, and iron gates; with its towers, soldiers, and 
large armory well filled with shields and the various 
weapons of war. Antipas had taken special care, du- 


* Durb. Trav in the East.vol. ii. p 38 See also Rob Pal vol iii in loco 

t Rob Pal vol iii in lo.o 






82 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


ring the halcyon days of peace, to provide a formidable 
armament against the time of war; with however no cov¬ 
ert purpose to rise against the Romans.* At a later 
period, in the reign of Caligula, the fact of this exten¬ 
sive collection was made use of against him, and was 
one cause of his deposition and banishment to Lyons, a 
city of Gaul.”t 

During this long term of time, marked by few striking 
incidents—while the “son of Joseph” passed through 
the different stages of childhood and youth in the 
neighboring village of Nazareth—Antipas lived with his 
wife, the daughter of Aretas, king of Arabia ;t chiefly 
occupying the royal palace at Sepphoris. Children 
were born to them here. This marriage was no doubt 
arranged by Herod the Great, the father of Herod An¬ 
tipas. It was not until shortly before the ministry of 
John the Baptist, that Antipas repudiated his first 
wife, and, contrary to the Jewish law, married Herodias, 
his brother Herod Philip’s wife. Herodias was daugh¬ 
ter of Berenice, and sister of Herod (afterward king) 
A grip pa. 

The acquaintance began in Rome, when the two bro¬ 
thers lodged in the same house. Here, says Josephus, 
Antipas ventured to talk to her about a marriage be¬ 
tween them, § to which she listened,—both forgetting 
the law of their fathers. The thing w r as wrong in iis 
inception; though such arrangements were common at 
Rome. But these were Jews; and were amenable to 


' Joa Antiq book xviii. ch. 7. sec. 2. 
\ Ibid, ch, v sec. i. Ibid. 


t Ibid. 




BUILDING OF TIBERIAS. 


83 


the law of Moses. They could not with impunity vio¬ 
late that law. 

It was late in life when Antipas formed this new con¬ 
nection; he was, probably, about fifty years of age. 
Considerable time was occupied in the negociation. As 
it drew toward a close, the first wife of Antipas became 
acquainted with it; and, concealing her intention, left 
Sepphoris, and returned to her father in Petra. Thus 
inauspiciously was the change inaugurated; though, 
according to the loose notions of marriage that then 
prevailed, even among the Jews, it was not generally 
perhaps regarded in a very heinous light. It proved in 
the end to be the eause of his fall and final banish¬ 
ment. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE BUILDING OF TIBERIAS. 

It is likely that soon after the death of Augustus, 
and the accession of Tiberius Caesar to the empire, 
Herod Antipas commenced the building of a new city, 
as Josephus says, “in the best part of Gallilee, at the 
lake of Gennesareth.”* Judging from its remains, and 
the line of wall that may still be partly traced, it was 
not a large city, though compactly built. The ruins 


* Jos. Antiq. book xviii. ch. 2 sec. 3. 




HEROD ANTIPAS. 


£4 


—seen in our day—would also indicate that it con¬ 
tained “ several large and costly structures.' * This new 
city Antipas called Tiberias, in honor of the emperor 
Tiberius Caesar, and to show his friendship; as Herod 
the tetrarch was in great favor with Tiberius.t Several 
years were consumed in the building of it; and every 
inducement was held out to supply it from the first with 
a large population. Many Galileans came and dwelt in 
it; there were strangers also. Some were necessitated 
by Herod to come thither out of the country belonging 
to him: and thus was the city soon supplied with in¬ 
habitants. He even built houses for poor people, at¬ 
taching a little glebe to each hous<f. Some persons of 
condition were constrained to take up their residence 
in the new city. 

The view was fine; the residence on the lake desira¬ 
ble. Nearly the whole eastern shore of the lake could be 
seen from the city.i A fertile plain extended from the 
back of the walls to the mountain ; in front spread the 
waters of Gennesareth. There were warm baths not far 
from the city in the village of Emmaus. 


* din’s Trav. in the East, vol. 2. p. 396. f Antiq. book xviii. ch. 2. sec. 3. 

t din’s Trav. vol. ii. p. 393. 



HEROD AGRiPPA AT 3EPPIIORI3. 


85 


CHAPTER III. 

♦ 

HEROD AGRIPPA INVITED BY HIS SISTER HERODIAS TO 
THE COURT OF HEROD ANTIPAS. 

Not very long before the commencement of the min¬ 
istry of John the Baptist, Herod Agrippa, then in very 
poor circumstances, was invited by his sister Herodias 
to Sepphoris. Agrippa, at the time he received the in¬ 
vitation, was in Idumea with his wife Cypros, at a place 
called Malatha. He was in the greatest distress ; and 
so dejected that he had thoughts of killing himself. 
He was, however, cheered and encouraged by his wife, 
who wrote to his sister Herodias, who had lately be¬ 
come the wife of Herod Antipas, stating the deplorable 
circumstances of Agrippa, and mentioning her fears— 
the fears of a loved and faithful wife—that unless he 
received help he would kill himself. Herodias inter¬ 
posed, as we have stated above: Agrippa with his wife 
and children came to Sepphoris, and Antipas made him 
governor of Tiberias. 

Agrippa was the son of the unfortunate Aristobulus^ 
slain by his father, Herod the Great. His mother was 
Berenice, daughter of Salome, sister of Herod the 
Great. Berenice, after the death of her husband went 
to Rome, taking with her Agrippa; and here the most 
of his early life was spent. He was quite intimate 
with Drusus, the son of Tiberius; and at the time of 


86 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


his death—or rather murder by Sejanus, aided by 
Livia the wife of Drusus, and mother of his children— 
was numbered among his particular friends. On this 
account he was excluded from the palace and the em¬ 
peror, who forbade the friends of his deceased son to 
come into his presence, because on seeing them his 
grief would be revived.* 

The younger Antonia, during the years that Berenice 
and her son Agrippa lived at Rome, formed a peculiar 
attachment to Berenice. They were both widows— 
young—and had early lost husbands whom they loved. 
There was the tie of sympathy between them; the tie 
of young, loving, and virtuous hearts. After the death 
of Berenice, who died in comparative youth, Antonia, 
the widow of Drusus, the sister-in-law of Tiberius, trans¬ 
ferred her regard to the son of her dear friend,— 
Herod Agrippa,—a young man of great vivacity, of 
good impulses, but of most aspiring temper and dis¬ 
position to extravagance. During his mother’s life 
such was his filial regard, and so fearful was he of 
giving her pain, that he incurred no debts. But after 
her death he launched out into the most lavish ex¬ 
pense. He had a handsome patrimony, but it was soon 
expended, and he was deeply involved in debt. This 
led to all his troubles; he was forced to leave Rome, 
and came to Idumea. Thence by invitation he came to 
the court of his brother-in-law; but did not remain here 
long. He and Herod Antipas soon fell out; he lost 
his place as governor of Tiberias, and commenced anew 


* Jos. Antiq. boOk xviii. ch. 6. sec. 1, 



JOHN THE BAPTIST. 


87 


his wanderings. Here we will leave him for the pre¬ 
sent ; in the next volume (3d) of this series of works we 
will meet with him again, and he will occupy a con¬ 
spicuous place among the actors who will then make 
their appearance. 


CHAPTER IV. 

HEROD ANTIPAS A HEARER OF JOHN THE BAPTIST. 

[A. D. 26, 27.] 


And now the whole land is filled with the name of 
John the Baptist. He is universally regarded as a 
prophet )a the same eminent sense as Elijah and Eli¬ 
sha. These prophets were a pow^r in the land; as 'wit¬ 
ness the authority of Elisha in the camp of Jehosh- 
aphat and Jehoram, kings of Judah and Israel, as they 
warred against the Moabites and the Edomites. What 
would the kings of Judah and Israel have done in their 
hour of need but for Elisha ? He brought them out of 
their great extremity. The prophet spoke with the 
voice of command, because he spoke as the servant of 
the Lord God Almighty. How small and weak appear 
these tw r o kings, supported by powerful armies, beside 
the prophet Elisha,* dressed very plainly, and speaking 


* 2 Kings, ch. ill. 14, 20. 







88 


HEROD ANTIPASj 


few words. Like a pillar the prophet rose high above 
the rest in the camp, whether kings or chief captains. 
So was it with John the Baptist; his voice was all 
potent in the land. All recognised his authority as a 
prophet, and stood ready to obey his behest. Came he 
not commissioned from the Most High ? His look, his 
voice, his gestures, his words, all were in accordance ; 
and bespoke in the most commanding manner the man 
of God. How different his addresses to the people 
from those of the doctors of the law—those who held 
forth in the synagogue. How pungent were his words ? 
As a prophet what w r as his theme ? He announced the 
speedy coming of the Messiah. He could make no 
more important announcement than this; and the proof 
that he was a prophet “ sent from God”—not a mere 
wild enthusiast, would appear from the actual coming 
of the so long expected Messiah,—the “ King of the 
Jews.” 

The great excitement prevailing, the rumors that 
were flying abroad, the announcement of the Messiah, 
reached Sepphoris, and came to the ears of Herod An- 
tipas. His curiosity, if not his fears, would be naturally 
aroused by the last particular. Has that long expected 
personage appeared—or, is he about to appear soon, 
who is not only to absorb the kingdom of Judah but 
all the kingdoms of the earth ? Will Herod be caded 
upon to relinquish his tetrarchy ? The preaching of 
John the Baptist soon dispelled the fears of Antipas, as 
to any present change in the political constitution of 
Judea—while the exhortations of the prophet to a holy 
life deeply impressed his heart- He had o»e serious. 


JOHN THE BAPTIST. 


89 


and, as it proved, fatal difficulty in the way of a tho¬ 
rough amendment of life; this was his unlawful connec¬ 
tion with Herodias. John insisted on a separation ; it 
was absolutely indispensable to righteousness of life. 
Antipas hesitated, but he was bound too fast to escape. 
His conviction was strong, but his passions were strong¬ 
er. He gave up the contest; and from this time, so far 
as Herodias was concerned, a deadly enmity ensued. 
Herodias, partaking rather the revengeful qualities of 
her grandmother, Salome, sister of Herod the Great, 
than the milder virtues of her mother Berenice, pur¬ 
sued the prophet with unmitigated hostility ; she thirst¬ 
ed for his blood ; and could she have induced Antipas 
to seize his person, John would have perished sooner 
than he did. But a cordon of hearts surrounded the 
man of God; and for a time the malice of Herodias 
proved ineffectual. While in the full tide of popularity, 
while the Sanhedrin quailed before his lightning words, 
—while the whole land actually trembled as if in fear 
of the righteous judgments of God, denounced against 
it by a tongue that was not afraid to speak the truth, 
Herod Antipas, with all his power, and incessantly 
urged by Herodias, did not dare to seize the person of 
the prophet, and put him to death. Secret plots 
against his life were laid, but these failed also. How 
could he die whose great mission was, the greatest ever 
given to man, to introduce to our world the Lord of 
life and glorj'. What was Herod in the hand of God 
but an instrument to do his will. He could go no far¬ 
ther than he was permitted; even his wiles must fail 
for the present. 


90 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


-i 


We may easily suppose that acrimonious words were 
spoken in the palace at Seppkoris. Perhaps Herodias 
berated the pusillanimity of Antipas. A woman of 
strong passions, of high, ungovernable temper, it is 
very likely that she did. Antipas retorted, and hard, 
bitter words were bandied between the two. In these 
wordy contests Herodias came off as we may conclude, 
usually, if not always, victorious. Antipas was en¬ 
slaved by his love to this woman; and no doubt prom¬ 
ised again and again to satisfy her thirst for vengeance. 
The various plots against the life of the prophet show 
this. What Antipas did in this way was with an 
alarmed conscience; he was fully persuaded that John 
was a good man. He was further satisfied that he had 
nothing to fear from an undue use of the power that 
the prophet swayed over the people, whatever different 
view Josephus may take of this subject. Herod saw 
clearly that the preaehing of John tended to reforma¬ 
tion, not reconstruction. Beside, his own conscience 
told him that the reproofs of John were just; so that all 
he did against the prophet was with an alarmed con¬ 
science; and he did but yield to the overpowering 
influence of Herodias. As yet the great person fore¬ 
told had not appeared; expectation was high, and An¬ 
tipas shared in the feverish solicitude with the rest. 
For a moment there was stillness in the land; in Sep- 
phoris, and in all the cities of Galilee and Judea— 
among the high as well as the low—all awaited anx- 
iouslv the wished for hour. Suddenly Christ appeared 
on the scene; and the second act in the grand drama 
begins. 


TETRARCH OF HEROD ANTIPAS. 


91 


CHAPTER V. 

THE EXTENT OF THE TETRARCHY OF HEROD ANTIPAS. 

The tetrarchy of Herod Antipas is singularly inter¬ 
esting from its relation to the word of prophecy. Gal¬ 
ilee, and the Gentile country adjacent to it and envi¬ 
roning it, north, east, west, is spoken of prophetically 
as a land of light; as the region on "which the day¬ 
spring from on high would shine with peculiar efful¬ 
gence. Hundreds of years before the times of which 
we write—before the ten tribes were carried into cap¬ 
tivity by Tiglath Pileser and his son Salmaneser, (the 
capture of Samaria by Salmaneser occurred [b. c. 721], 
in the fourth year of the reign of Hezekiah, king of 
Judah) Isaiah the prophet, foreseeing the desolation of 
the land, spake of a bright future in which Galilee 
would be the source and center of light, and declared 
that thence would emanate a glory which would irrad¬ 
iate the whole earth. The light should not be confined 
to the narrow limits of Judea, but would be communi- 
catedto the surrounding heathen nations. 

The light which it was foretold should shine on Gali¬ 
lee —that highly favored region—that soil marked by 
the footsteps of Elijah and Elisha—was to be a “great 
light.” Great light indeed! God himself incarnated, 
had chosen it for his destined residence on earth. Je- 


92 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


rusalem and Judea might receive occasional visits, but 
the land of Galilee was selected as his permanent home. 
Even during his ministry of three years and a half, but 
a small portion of his time was spent out of the district 
of Galilee. Nazareth, a town in this district, was his 
home, as we have seen, during the greater part of his 
life. Hence, in a prophetic sense, Jesus as the Messiah 
is described as “Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.” 
It was one of the distinctive appellations of Christ. So 
well in a popular sense was this understood, that we 
find him addressed by those who appealed to him for 
miraculous aid—believing that iz was in his power to 
bestow such aid—as “Jesus of Nazareth.” An appeal 
thus made could not be resisted; it was acknowledged 
as a legitimate claim; “Jesus of Nazareth” carries with 
it the same power as when Jesus was addressed as the 
“ Son of David.” 

This remarkable prophecy, delivered over seven hun¬ 
dred years before it was literally fulfilled, is thus 
w r orded: 

“ The land of Zebulon, and the land of Nepthalim, by 
the way of the sea, beyond Jordan, Galilee of the Gen¬ 
tiles : the people which sat in darkness saw great light; 
and to them which sat in the region and shadow of 
death, light is sprung up.” * 

The ethnarchy of Herod Antipas included this land 
—this singularly favored region where Christ would for 
the most part dwell during his brief sojourn on our 
earth. Within these bounds in general, but especially 


* Isaiah ix, 1. 2. 





TETRARCIIY OF HEROD ANTIPAS. 93 

in particular localities within these limits, would his 
chiefest works be performed. It would be demonstra¬ 
ted by those works—such as no man ever did or could 
do—that God was indeed on the earth, and that he 
dwelt, in human form, among the children of men. 

Only five days before his death, Herod the Great 
having altered his will, Galilee and Perea (that is the 
country beyond the Jordan) fell to the lot of Herod 
Antipas. Before this Antipas instead of Archelaus 
had been granted the kingdom of Judea; the change 
which his father made in his will just before his death, 
left his portion as stated above. Antipas contested the 
will before Augustus, but Augustus, as we have already 
seen, confirmed the division of Herod. Antipas qui¬ 
etly submitted ; and when his brother Archelaus was 
deposed, he retained his government. 

Galilee was divided into two parts, called the Upper 
and the Lower Galilee. They were encompassed about 
by Phenicia and Syria. On the west Galilee was 
bounded by the territory belonging to Ptolemais, and 
by Carmel; on the south it was bounded by Samaria 
and Scythopolis, as far as the. river Jordan: on the 
east by Ilippene and Gadaris, and also Gaulanitis; its 
northern portion was bounded by Tyre and the country 
of the Tyrians. 

The line between Upper and Lower Galilee extended 
in length from Tiberias to Zebulon, and so across the 
country to the vicinity of Ptolemais; but Galilee did not 
include this ancient seaport; neither, at this present 
time (though once this was the case) did it include 
Mount Carmel, The two Galileos are spoken of by Jo- 


f 


04 


HEROD ANT1PAS. 


sephus as of “ great largenessthe Galileans lie des¬ 
cribes as courageous and warlike; the soil of Galilee 
as “ universally rich and fruitful,” and “full of the plan¬ 
tations of trees of all sorts.” As for the cities and vil¬ 
lages, he says that they “lie very thick”—that “the 
very least village contained above fifteen thousand in¬ 
habitants.'*” 

Of Perea he thus speaks : “Now the length of Perea 
is from Macherus (this was on the Dead Sea) to Pella, 
and its breadth from the river Jordan eastward to the 
cities of Philadelphia and Gerasa.”t Perea was much 
larger in extent than Galilee; the olive tree, the vine? 
and the palm-tree were chiefly cultivated. Perea w r as 
well watered “with torrents which came down from the 
mountainsit had also never-failing springs, which in 
the months of summer, when the torrents ceased, never 
were dry. 

Diverging a little, we would say, there was a city of 
Galilee, on the lake of that name, called Bethsaida 
which had nursed two brothers of that hardy class of 
men for which Galilee was distinguished. Their names 
were Andrew and Simon, surnamed Peter. In this city 
on the lake they drew their breath; they became well- 
known afterward. There w^ere also, of the same hardy 
class, two brothers, John and James, who lived in a 
village, on the shores of the same lake, called Caperna¬ 
um. Little knowing the destiny that awaited them— 
inured to toil, active, industrious, vigorous—the four 
pursued their calling as fishermen, and became united 


* Jewish War, book iii. ch. iii. sec. 1, 2. f Ibid, sec 3. 





JOHN THE BAPTIST. 


95 


as partners. Two of them, we know, were married— 
very likely all four. Andrew and Peter, leaving Beth- 
saida, came to Capernaum, and they all dwelt in the 
same village. The elements of idieir nature were homo¬ 
geneous, and a happy harmony reigned among them. 
During the years that we have gone over—while Anti- 
pas ruled Galilee, while Jesus lived as yet unrecognised 
under the paternal roof in Nazareth, passing from 
youth to manhood—these had been growing up also. 
Obscure they were—little known out of their respective 
villages. They were all, at the time John the Baptist 
appears on the stage, in their prime ; and were among 
those who were sedulous attendants of his ministry. 
They all four drank into one spirit; were baptized, con¬ 
fessing their sins, and became prominent disciples of 
John. Thus a new tie was added; their friendship as¬ 
sumed a higher form; it took a more sacred name. 
They shared alike in the hopes of the Messiah, excited 
by the discourses of their master; they ranged them¬ 
selves by his side. 

Happy fishermen—dwellers in this land of promise— 
happy in your associations, your views, your hopes.— 
Happy roofs under which you lived. Your homes so 
dear you will be called to leave; not to engage in war 
—for which Galileans were ever ready—but to embark 
in the highest of all callings—to gain immortal names 
--and to leave a deathless heritage to posterity, even 
the knowledge of life eternal. 


06 


IlEROD ANTIPAS. 


|jook $mi\. 


CHAPTER I. 

TIBERIUS IN CAMPANIA. [A. D. 27.] 

John the Baptist, it will he remembered, was at this 
time preaching in Judea. He commenced about the 
time of the paschal feast,* in the preceding year— 
[a. d. 26] the year in which Tiberius left Rome. 

There accompanied the emperor Cocceius Nerva, a 
senator of consular rank, celebrated for his legal know¬ 
ledge—also Sejanus and Curtius Atticus, a Roman 
knight. The rest were mostly Greeks, men of literary 
reputation, whose “ talents amused him in his hours of 
leisure”! The name of one of these Greeks was Zeus, 
the name of another was Seleucis; he was a gramma¬ 
rian.! He took with him also Thrasyllus, the astrolo¬ 
ger. 

Tiberius tarried in Campania sometime, going from 
place to place. He had here a narrow escape of his 
life while dining in a natural cave on the sea shore, 


* Prid. Con. Part 2. An. 26. f Tac. An. book 4, sec. 68. 

+ Suet. Life Tib. sec. 56. 





T1BKRIU3 IN CAMPANIA. 


97 


when the stones at the entrance of the cave fell in. 
Some of the attendants were crushed; the guests were 
alarmed, and tied for safety; Sejanus alone, “to pro¬ 
tect his master, fell on his knees, and with his whole 
force sustained the impending weight,”* till relief came. 
His disregard of himself, the imminent peril to which 
he was exposed to save Tiberius, made Sejanus more 
than ever all powerful. How could Tiberius doubt a 
friendship thus tested? f 

While, during the year of our Lord 27, Tiberius 
with his train remained in Campania, an ampitheatre 
for the exhibition of gladiators, fell, and killed or 
maimed not less than fifty thousand. The building 
had been erected at Fidene a small town six miles 
from Rome. All the houses of the great in Rome were 
opened to receive the sufferers; and all vied with each 
other in acts of hospitality. It seemed like a return to 
primitive manners, t 

Following this calamity, Mount Caelius was reduced 
to ashes. A great part of the city was thus destroyed; 
people’s minds were much moved; and they said the 
prince departed from Rome under an evil constella¬ 
tion.* 

Though the people wished his return, Tiberius did 
not return. In the course of this year, he crossed over 
to the island of Capria; and took up his residence 
there for the rest of his reign, making some ten years. 

The year after, [a. d. 26], he left the island on a 
sailing party, coasting along the Campanian shore, but 


* Tac. An. book 4, sec. 59. 


t Ibid, sec 02. 


t Ibid. sec. 64. 




98 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


not entering the Tiber, nor approaching even the sub¬ 
urbs of the city. The principal men of Rome flocked 
to the shore; sleeping out at night and “ humbly wait¬ 
ing’’ through the day to get a word or a smile from 
Tiberius or his minister. Soon Tiberius set sail for his 
island; and “the whole herd,” says Tacitus, “returned 
to Rome;” some dejected because they had not been 
noticed, others, elate with joy, because favored with 
perhaps a look or passing word.* 


CHAPTER II. 

AGRIPPINA AND HER SON NERO 

During the years briefly noticed in the preceding 
chapter, Sejanus, following out his dark plan, encour- 
aged by the favor of Tiberius, which had become yet 
more marked since the minister saved his life, pursued 
with his wiles Agrippina and her son, Nero. The 
mother must be removed; so must also the son. Unde¬ 
tected he grew bolder in crime, and was particularly 
pleased when he found that the death of Drusus passed 
with hardly a comment. Even Tiberius did not seem 
severely to feel the loss of his son. As for Livia, the 
faithless wife, she still aided the plans of Sejanus by 
the influence which she exerted over her own daughter, 


* Tac. An. book iv. sec. 74. 




AGRIPPINA AND HER SON NERO. 


99 


Julia, who was married to Nero. Not satisfied with 
what she had already done, with the wickedness she had 
hitherto committed, she engaged her own daughter in a 
conspiracy against Nero, her husband; and by her 
daughter’s unfavorable reports, conveyed through the 
mother to Sejanus, Tiberius was more and more in¬ 
flamed against his grandson. Sejanus artfully induced 
the emperor to believe the very worst of the inimical 
disposition of this young man. 

Just before Tiberius left Eome, through the machi¬ 
nations of the minister, Sejanus, a prosecution com¬ 
menced against Claudia Pulckra, a near relation and 
very dear friend of Agrippina’s, made it evident to all 
that the widow of Germanicus was marked out for 
destruction. The prosecution was regarded “ as a pre¬ 
lude to the fate of Agrippina.” Agrippina flew to Ti¬ 
berius, and besought him to save her friend; but in 
vain. Pulchra was condemned. 

Soon after this Tiberius visited Agrippina in her 
sickness. Looking long and steadily at him, she at 
length burst into tears. She asked permission of him 
to marry again ; to this request the emperor made no 
reply. He saw in it, as he thought, “a spirit of am¬ 
bition that looked proudly towards the imperial dig¬ 
nity.” 

Sejanus, through his agents, acting on the fears of 
Agrippina, led her to think that Tiberius sought an 
opportunity to take her oft by poison. She was cau¬ 
tioned to avoid eating at the emperor’s table. She 
gave heed to these evil suggestions, and when invited 
by Tiberius to eat some apples that stood near him. 


100 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


she was alarmed, and without tasting the fruit, she gave 
it to the servant to take away. Tiberius was much dis¬ 
pleased : he said to his mother, “ Should this woman be 
treated -with severity will any body wonder, when she now 
imputes to me the guilt of dealing in poison?”* He little 
divined whose hand was in the cup : who was the arch- 
plotter of all this mischief: that it was his own familiar 
friend, to whom he opened his heart; and in whom he 
reposed unlimited trust. 

In Campania, the same strategy against mother and 
son was employed. Nero was imprudent; his friends 
who through the young prince were “eager to grasp at 
power,” advised him not to submit to the insolence of 
Sejanus; to rise up against his authority. Like Dru- 
sus, Nero began to speak freely; he used rash expres¬ 
sions : these were caught up by spies—even by the wife 
of his bosom, “ and reported with exaggeration.” Im¬ 
prudent, but not criminal, the conduct of the emperor 
tilled him with alarm. The emperor received the prince 
with a stern countenance, or with an ambiguous smile. 
Sejanus even induced Drusus, the brother of Nero, to 
join in the conspiracy. He “dazzled the imagination of 
the stripling,” leading him to think that he would suc¬ 
ceed to the empire when the ruin of his brother was 
completed. 

The anger of Tiberius toward the young prince, as 
soon as known, was followed by the estrangement of the 
followers of the court; some “ avoided his presence; 
others paid a formal salute, and coldly passed away.” 


* T&c. An. book iv. sec. 54. 



THE ISLAND OF CAPREA2. 


101 


The creatures of Sejanus treated him with railery and 
contempt. He lived in constant anxiety, and every day 
brought some new alarm. 

Sejanus was preparing the way for arraigning both 
the mother and son before the senate; a proceeding 
sure to be followed by their condemnation. The next 
heir to the empire would thus be removed; and Seja¬ 
nus be assured of complete success. 


CHAPTER III. 

TIBERIUS ON THE ISLAND OF CAPRE^E. 

The island of Caprern, to which Tiberius had now re-^ 
tired for the remainder of his life, and which his vices 
and his cruelty have made memorable, is now known 
under the name of Capri. Its situation in the bay of 
Naples is very striking. Its appearance off the shore 
is described by Suetonius as bold and picturesque ; it 
is “ surrounded on all sides with rugged cliffs, of a 
stupendous height, and by a deep sea. 1 '* 

“ The island,” says the same writer, “ was accessible 
only by a narrow beach.” Tacitus says it had not a sin¬ 
gle port in the channel ; f that is the channel by which 
it is separated from the promontory of Surrentum, and 
which is three miles wide. This narrow channel sepa- 


* Life Tib. see 40. t An. book iv. sec. 67. 


/ 






102 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


rates the island from the main land. Of the climate, 
Tacitus says, “ it is inviting: in the winter a soft and 
genial air, under the shelter of a mountain that repels 
the inclemency of the winds; in the summer the heat 
is allayed by the western breeze.’’* 

Tiberius, seeking isolation and retirement, liked the 
island, because there was no part where men could land 
unobserved by the sentinels Here he could be “ de¬ 
fended from all intrusion,” and enjoy the solitude in 
which he so much delighted, and be sequestered from 
the world.! These were some of the “many circum¬ 
stances suited to his humor.” 

As it respects the size of the island, “it lies four 
miles in length from east to west, and about one in 
breadth”! “ The western part, for about two miles in 
length, is a continued rock, vastly high, and inaccessi¬ 
ble from the seaside.^” This mountain, at the west end 
of the island, rises to the height of one hundred and 
ninety feet above the sea.|| “ The eastern end of the 
island rises in precipices very near as high, though not 
quite so long as the western.” T 

“ Between these eastern and western mountains lies 
a slip of lower ground,” running north and south, “ hid 
with vines, figs, oranges, almonds, olives, myrtles and 
fields of corn,” which make a lovely spot, and form the 
“ most delightful little landscape imaginable, when sur¬ 
veyed from the top of the neighboring mountains.” ** A 


* An. book lv. sec. f Ibid. % Addison’s Remarks on Ttaly. 

$ Ibid. i\ Murray’s Hand Rook of South Italy and Naples. 

% Addison’s Remarks on Italy. ** Ibid. 




THE ISLAND OF CAPREiE. 103 

hill rises in the midst of this fruitful tract of land, on 
which probably was situated one of the twelve villas of 
Tiberius, perhaps that of Jovis, or Jupiter, mentioned 
by Suetonius. There are still to be seen ruins on the 
side of this hill. # 

One of the twelve villas (they were named after the 
twelve principal heathen deities) stood on the very ex¬ 
tremity of the high eastern mountain. There are re¬ 
mains of this villa yet to be seen; apartments very 
high, and arched at the top. From this villa, situated 
on this high mountain at the extreme eastern end of 
the island, Tiberius looked out on the green promontory 
of Surrentum. From hence was seen, “ built on a pro¬ 
montory which projects out into the sea,” *Herculane- 
um, and next to it Pompeii, washed by the river Sar- 
no.”f Pompeii at that time stood on the sea, though 
the sea is now at some distance.;); 

The island, from the high hills on each end, com¬ 
manded a fine view r of the bay of Naples. There rose, 
in the distance, Vesuvius, which, with the exception of 
the summit, was covered with very beautiful fields.§ 
There was to be seen, also, Neapolis, (Naples) Puteoli, || 
or, Dicaearchia, Baiae, and Cumae. 

Near to Cumae was the promontory of Misenum; 
, and at the very foot of the promontory, in a harbor, one 
of the two Roman fleets was stationed; the other w r as 
stationed in the Adriatic Sea, at Ravenna.^f From the 


* Strabo, book v. ch. 4, sec. 8. f iDid. J Ruins of Ancient Cities. 
$ Strabo nook r. ch. 4, sec. 8. || Modern name Pozzuoli. 

^ Tao. An. book 5v. sec. 5. 



104 


IIEROD ANTIPAS 


hio-h hill, on the west, Tiberius could see his fleet an- 
chored at Misenum. 

The entire circumference of the bay of Naples was 
covered with buildings ; villas, temples, and villages, or 
towns, connected with each other. The shore, also, was 
replete with classic fable ; and all the fairy scene w T as 
before the eye of Tiberius. 

On this island, at the age of sixty-eight, Tiberius gave 
himself up to his, as Tacitus styles them, “ voluptuous 
pleasures.” They are not fit to he named. Suetonius 
gives some account of them. * 


CHAPTER IV. 

DEATH OF LIVIA *. AGRIPPINA AND NERO VOTED PUBLIC 
ENEMIES. [A. D. 29. 30.] 

In the year of our Lord twenty-nine, died Livia, the 
mother of Tiberius, “ styled Julia Augusta.” Her age is 
variously stated at eighty-two, eighty-six, eighty-seven, 
years. Dion Cassius states her age at eighty-seven, 
Pliny, eighty-two; f another authority, eighty-six. She 
survived Augustus fifteen years,—about the same pe¬ 
riod that Augustus survived Herod the Great. Thus 
actor after actor, living at the time of the birth of 
Christ, passes away; but their names are indelibly 


♦ Life T. H, 44. 


■f Book 14, sec. 0. 






Agrippina and her son nero. 105 

associated with that great event; and you may as well 
attempt to obliterate the action of the waves on the 
rocks which line the seashore, as to hide this historic 
fact. It stands forth as the sun at noon day; it is en¬ 
graved as on a rock; it forms one of the facts of the 
most memorable age of history. 

Of Livia, the empress mother, Tacitus says: “ Her 
domestic conduct was formed on the model of primitive 
manners.” As a wife, it would seem, as if amid the 
general demoralization, she conducted herself well; 
and did not forfeit the confidence of Augustus. She 
possessed popular manners, and made herself loved 
by the people at large. It is said that the senate, at 
her death, ordered an arch to be raised to her memory, 
and decreed that she should be called the mother of 
her country, for the many beneficent acts that she had 
performed. Among instances of her beneficence, as 
well as to show the amiableness of her disposition, we 
are told, that, through her intercession with Augustus, 
she saved the lives of several members of the senate; 
brought up their children ; and contributed to the mar¬ 
riage of many of their daughters.* 

There is no doubt that she advised Augustus to pur¬ 
sue a conciliatory policy, and so to heal the wounds 
made by the civil wars, and that Augustus was greatly 
influenced in his course by her advice. The effects 
proved to be most salutory; and many years before his 
death his enemies were disarmed by the conciliatory 
course he pursued, and at length all breaches were 


* Dion Cassius vol. i. p. 239. 




HEROD AKTIPAS. 


i: 6 

healed. The rancour of civil war was forgotten; the 
empire was at peace within and without; and but one 
fear occupied men’s minds—the change that might 
arise from the death of Augustus. As firm, if not firm¬ 
er than Augustus in the affections of the Roman peo¬ 
ple, was his wife Li via, Julia Augusta, the empress 
mother. 

A change came over her life ere she died. Her son 
Tiberius, the emperor, proved ungrateful. Livia was 
too exacting, and her son could not bear it. She tyran¬ 
nized as empress in everything. She insisted that her 
name should be put jointly with that of Tiberius in the 
public register.* All powerful under Augustus, she 
could not endure that there should be any diminution 
of influence, or that her weight of authority should be 
less than during the reign of her husband. Tiberius 
would not submit to her dominancy; and “ at length re¬ 
moved her entirely from the management of affairs.” 
“ During the whole course of her illness Tiberius made 
her no visit, nor assisted at her funeral.”f She had 
been guilty of participating in at least one murder to 
elevate her son to the empire, and her crime came back 
to her own bosom in the end. “With what measure ye 
mete, it shall be measured to you again.” Let none 
think that he can escape retributive justice. There is 
an eye that never sleeps, and the scales are poised in 
the hand of unerring rectitude and truth. 

Livia was buried in the mausoleum of Augustus, and 
placed by the side of him who had loved her so well— 


* Diou Cassius, vol. i. p. 117. 


t Ibid. p. 238. 



AGRIPPINA AND HER SON NERO. 107 

whatever might happen to be the real measure of her 
affection for him. 

The death of Livia exposed Agrippina and her son 
Nero to the full wrath of Tiberius and his minister, Se- 
janus. llardly were the funeral ceremonies over, ere 
Tiberius, in a letter to the senate, denounced Agrippina 
and her son. There was no imputation of treason 
against Nero, but “the crimes objected to him were 
unlawful pleasures, and a life of riot and debauchery.’"* 

This was a singular charge for Tiberius to make 
against his grandson, when he himself, on his island, 
carried his dissipations to such lengths, that a new 
name was given to a certain class of men who invented 
new forms of libidinous pleasure. 

The crime alleged against Agrippina was, “ her 
haughty carriage and unconquerable pride.’ 

Upon the reception of this letter, “arraigning the 
conduct of Agrippina and her son, Nero,” the senate 
was struck with astonishment, and knew not how to 
act. Upon motion of Junius Rusticus, “who was sup¬ 
posed to be in the secrets of his master,” the considera¬ 
tion of the contents of the letter was postponed, and 
the senate adjourned their sittings without coming to a 
conclusion. Tiberius when informed of this was ex¬ 
ceedingly angry: took the senate to task; and expli¬ 
citly charged Agrippina and Nero with conspiracy 
against the state. Sejanus inllamed Tiberius the more, 
saying that the soldiers threatened a revolt, and that 
Nero was already considered as the head of the empire. 


* Tac. An. book v. sec. 3. 



108 


HEROD ANTI PAS, 


The senate, without much further consideration, after a 
short debate, declared that the mother and son were 
public enemies. There was no trial; the simple de¬ 
nunciation of the emperor sufficed for their condemna¬ 
tion. Their case was prejudged; and what had a ser¬ 
vile senate to do but ratify a foregone conclusion ? 
Whether innocent or guilty, in reality, was of little 
moment. 

The mother and son were seized, loaded with fetters, 
and conveyed in a close litter, “which not a ray of 
light could penetrate,” towards the coast of Campania. 
Nero was banished to the island of Pontia, in the Tus¬ 
can sea; his unhappy mother was confined in a castle 
near Herculaneum, on the margin of the sea. Tiberius, 
from the high hill, on the east end of the island, could 
see the castle in which the widow of Germanicus was 
confined; as for herself, when night came on, if permit¬ 
ted to lookout from her prison, she could see the Ion ly 
watch-light, “the Pharos of Caprem,” sending to the 
sailor its cheerful brains—but conveying no comfort to 
her desolate heart. 

Nero was twenty-nine years of age when what has 
been narrated took place. 


THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST. 


109 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE BAPTISM IN THE JORDAN. 

We place the baptism of Christ somewhere about 
the time of the death of Livia, whence, according to Ta¬ 
citus, “ may be dated the era of a furious, headlong, 
despotic government.” During the life of Livia Tibe¬ 
rius was kept under some restraint; but after she was 
no more there was no one to exercise any control; and 
both the prince and his minister broke out with unbri¬ 
dled fury.* Agrippina and Nero felt the first effects 
of this fury. Next the most intimate friends of his mo¬ 
ther were devoted to destruction; especially those to 
whom she had recommended the care of her funeral, f 
Rome, also in the meantime, knew no pause from the 
rage of persecution. Seneca says, “Nothing was safe, 
no place secure; informers spread terror and desola¬ 
tion through the city, and all ranks were swept away in 
one common ruin.” 

We turn from these scenes, to Judea; from the island 
of Capreae, on which [a. d. 30] Tiberius had spent above 
three years, indulging himself in every vice§ from 


* An. book v, sec. 3. f Ibid. sec. 2. 

% De Beneficus, lib. iii. cap. 26. 

^■Supplement to Tacitus. There is a gap here in the Annals of Tacitus. 
Part of the year of Home, 782, all 783, and the greater part of 784 Is lost. 



liO 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


the deserted palace on the Palatine hill. Antonia, it 
is true, still remained in Pome, and occupied the palace, 
but the splendor and bustle of the court were gone. 
Only attendants w r ere seen on the marble steps leading 
into the Via Sacra. The gardens of Adonis, adjoining 
the palace, were also, for the most part, empty. Still, 
solitary, was all around. Little joy was there in the 
city: confidence was gone: spies and informers lurked 
in ambush. Even those who, in the many eating hou¬ 
ses, having drank too freely of wine, spoke an unguard¬ 
ed word, (Seneca mentions this) were reported; and 
death followed. From this gloom and horror we turn 
to a spot and a scene resplendent with light; from the 
Tiber to the banks of the Jordan; from imperial Pome 
to Judea captive. 

In the year twenty-nine we may place the baptism 
of Christ; the year of the banishment of Nero to the 
island of Pontia; and the imprisonment of Agrippina 
in a castle near Herculaneum. 

What an hour was that, in the history of our world, 
when Jesus left the seclusion of Nazareth for the scene 
of the baptism of John, his forerunner, on the banks 
of the Jordan. Then the darkness which had so long 
brooded over our world began to retire ; then hope, 
nearly faint and despairing, plumed her wing for a 
higher flight; then the soul first felt the breath of a 
new life; then was fanned a flame that shall never ex¬ 
pire. On the road, the dusty road, he walked from 
morn till eve—resting at noon, as afterwards, on the 
curb of Jacob’s well during the heat of the day. It was 
the season of vintage; the joyful season of the year; 


THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST. 


Ill 


when each vineyard resounded with the song and 
shouts of the treaders of grapes ; when from the wine- 
fat the blood-red juice flowed forth in glowing abun¬ 
dance. The sun poured down his fervid beams upon 

the dusty plain, with scarce a passing cloud, during the 
livelong day, to screen the solitary traveler as he 

wended his way, slowly, with perhaps a staff in his 

hand, musing on his high mission, contemplating the 
glory which should accrue from its complete fulfilment. 
At length, from some overhanging hill, the Jordan 
opened to his view, fringed by the acanthus, the olean¬ 
der, the willow, and the tall bushes and rank grass 
which grew on its steep or shelving banks. Two thou¬ 
sand years had passed since the river had witnessed 
that act of omnipotent power when its waters divided 
of their own accord, and the tribes of Israel, with the 
ark of the covenant, passed over amid the sound of 
shawms and trumpets. Then the whole land shook and 
the waters were afraid. The same sacred stream is to 
witness a yet greater exhibition of power and glory, 
when the Son of God shall lave his human body in its 
waters; and from this point shall begin the grand work 
of human redemption. 

This burial of baptism—commemorates it not, by an¬ 
ticipation, the burial of the body and the resurrection of 
the dead, whatever may have been the lapse of time 
since, or whatever the circumstances under which the 
decomposition of men’s bodies may have taken place. 
The burial of baptism, and the sheen of rising up again 
out of the glassy wave, does it not point to the splendor 
of the new risen body, and its immaculate purity, with 


112 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


the overthrow of death, and the removal forever of the 
dark habiliments of the grave. This solitary traveler 
who stands on yonder adjoining height, and looks down 
on the scene in the valley below, with the Jordan flow*- 
ing between the opposite banks,-—does he not conte tin¬ 
plate a victory such as the world has not yet seen; a 
victory over death; a complete triumph over the gloom, 
the sin, the misery of earth and time; the rehabili¬ 
tation of the world in more than its original splendor 
beauty, love and truth. 

John had now pursued, according to the computation 
of Prideaux, * his important ministry for the space of 
two years and a half. “He began it about the time of 
the paschal feast; and it was now the feast of taberna¬ 
cles in the third year after.” t A year later he w r as cast 
into prison, and this burning and shining light was 
quenched in Israel. But he had then lived his full 
time, had done his great work, and his sun set with¬ 
out a cloud. He had ushered in the day of the world’s 
redemption, and saw the heavens ere he departed tinted 
with rosy light—a new day dawned indeed—to be fol¬ 
lowed by night no more. During all this period of 
three years and a half, he had testified to the speedy 
appearance of tho Messiah in the land. 

It must be remembered that as yet John had seen 


* “ The whole term of Christ’s ministry, while he was here on earth, 
executed first vicariously by John, his forerunner, and afterward pessonally 
oy himself, was exactly seven years; John three years and a half; Christ 
three years and a half more; and these seven years constituted the last 
of the seventy weeks in Daniel’s prophecy.” Prid. Con. An. 26. 

t Ibid. 




THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST. 


113 


him not; he had no personal acquaintance with the 
Messiah. He says so himself: “I knew him not;” that 
is, he did not know him until he came to his baptism; 
and was pointed out by the Spirit, as had occurred with 
Simeon when Jesus as an infant was presented to the 
priest in the temple, according to the law of Moses, 
which required that the firstborn male child should be 
solemnly offered to the Lord. Thus it was that John, 
seeing Jesus coming to his baptism, knew who he was 
by a secret, divine intimation. The Holy Spirit said, 
“This is he: this is Jesus of Nazareth.” When John 
was in the womb, and the voice of the virgin mother 
was first heard on the threshold of his mothers house, 
(this was the testimony of Elizabeth, the mother of 
John) “the babe leaped in her womb;” so now, John, 
taught of God, knows Jesus, as with slow step he ap¬ 
proaches the water’s edge. What were the feelings of 
John it would be impossible adequately to describe. On 
the one hand they were feelings of unbounded joy—on 
the other of holy awe. He knew well in whose pres¬ 
ence he stood: even as Moses did, when a Voice sound¬ 
ed in his ear, out of the burning bush; while the bush 
remained unconsumed—sure proof that it was God who 
spake to him from the midst of the fire. Gladly would 
John have fallen prostrate at the feet of Jesus. To the 
eye of his inspired forerunner the Deity shone forth in 
the human body of Jesus, with a splendor more daz¬ 
zling than that of the fire which surrounded the God¬ 
head in the wilderness of Sinai. Then came to his 
ear from one of the mountains of Moab which over¬ 
look this sacred plain, those words spoken by Balaam 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


1 14 

the prophet, which thus, in the most glowing language 
foretold the appearing of the Jewish Messiah in our 
world. 

“ I shall see him but not now: I shall behold him 
but not nigh: there shall come a star out of Jacob, 
and a sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite 
the corners of Moab, and destroy all the children of 
Sheth. * And Edom shall be a possession, Seir also 
shall be a possession for his enemies ; and Israel shall 
do valiantly. Out of Israel shall come he that shall 
have dominion, and shall destroy him that remaineth 
of the cityf’f 

God had prepared the mind of John the Baptist, the 
forerunner of Jesus, for a most remarkable authentica¬ 
tion of Jesus, as the Messiah. It was not sufficent that 
by a secret intimation, he should be enabled, in a crowd, 
to distinguish him from a thousand others at a single 
glance of the eye, and to know assuredly that it was 
he who was the “ Sent” of God, but he had a much 
more wonderful manifestation to make, a visible sign to 
show clear as the sun at noonday. Thus when the 
great God would authenticate the law to be divine, he 
came down from heaven, and made his presence known 
on Mount Sinai,—by a thick cloud on its summit—by 
thunderings and lightnings that proceeded from the 
cloud—by the shaking of the mountain to its base,— 
and by the sound of a loud voice, which filled with 
solemn awe and dread those by whom it was heard. So 


*- Sheth, moans enemies in general. See Go.s. Heb. Lex. on the word. 

f Numb. xxiv. 17, 18, 13. 







THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST. 


115 


now when, in the person of Jesus Christ, he is to make 
a manifestation of u grace and truth—of 6i grace upon 
grace, he has a great sign to show from heaven, not, 
as on the former occasion, to the multitude at large,— 
but to John, his forerunner, on the strength of whose 
testimony he was to be declared the Messiah to the 
assembled people of Israel. 

Was the law given on Sinai to be rescued from inter¬ 
polators, by the testimony of assembled Israel—from 
those who would weaken its authority—from those who 
would say it was the work of man and not of God—who 
would deny its divine origin—and shall not God give 
to his chosen servant an incontestable sign, on the 
strength of which he may assuredly declare “ Jesus of 
Nazareth, the son of Joseph,’’ to be the “ Son of God?” 
A sign from heaven was given of the most signal kind. 
God, it is true, did not descend in a thick cloud, amid 
fire and smoke—-he spake not with a voice louder than 
the loudest thunder—he shrouded not himself in black¬ 
ness and tempest—but the heavens themselves were 
opened, even as a curtain is parted, and what appeared 
to be a dove descended from the sunlit sky— a white¬ 
winged dove—and alighted on the head of Jesus, as he 
stood with John on the banks of the Jordan after his 
baptism—remaining stationary there, amid an efful¬ 
gence that dazzled the eye. John had been prepared 
for this; the sign had been pre-announced, and mi¬ 
nutely described; the Spirit was to descend from hea¬ 
ven in the form of a dove, to light upon and remain on 
his head. The Spirit of God, assuming this form, must 
have been glorious ind. ed. Ezekiel and Isaiah had 


HEROD ANT1PAS. 


I 


6 


seen remarkable manifestations of the glory of the 
Lord; John, the forerunner of Jesus, saw that glory in 
a light no less significant and distinct than the rest, 
hut in a sweet, mild form. The Godhead in this form 
descended and took possession of the man Christ Jesus, 
even as the cloud of the divine glory descended and 
took possession of the tabernacle at the time of its ded¬ 
ication. This was the anointing of the Holy One spo¬ 
ken of by Daniel, and filling Jesus with the fullness of 
God. John saw the amazing sight; this luminous dis¬ 
play ; this heavenly coruscation. It was as if he had 
been admitted into heaven ; or, with the prophet Isaiah 
had seen “the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and 
lifted up, and his train filled the temple.” * Was the 
scene less dazzling because it was on the earth ? On 
and around the spot where the two stood, the glory of 
the Lord shone as afterward on the mount of transfigu- 
ration. What was earth with its vain glory then? What 
sensual delights ? What the food of earth, with the 
endless craving which it creates ? What all the world 
gives to its most favored votaries who exhaust its 
whole stock ? What the voice of fame ? Here was an 
emanation from heaven itself; a glory proceeding di¬ 
rectly from God. Grief, do thou retire! Tears—let 
them be washed away! Hope, dawn again on our be¬ 
nighted world! Prophets and patriarchs, sainted kings 
and sainted heroes rejoice—the day you looked forward 
to is come; the battle for which you fought is won* 
your tears are dried up forever; your sad moans, which 


* Isaiah vi l. 




'THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST. 


117 


Bo often broke the dull, heavy ear of night, like the 
lone, plaintive cry of the whippoorwill, are hushed, to 
be heard no more. 

In addition to the descent of the Spirit of God upon 
Christ, (what form may not God assume?) there was 
heard by John a voice from heaven, which distinctly 
said, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well 
pleased.” * Then the heavens were shut; the glory re¬ 
tired, probably by slow degrees, as the last rays of day 
linger on the mountain-tops, or are reflected from the 
surface of the glassy wave. With what holy regret did 
John leave the spot, consecrated by such a presence. 
As for Jesus himself, he was suddenly carried away by 
the Spirit, as by a whirlwind, into the wilderness, to be 
tempted of the devil. So Elijah was carried as by a 
strong gust of the coming tempest from Carmel to Jez- 
reel, hurried along by a power which he could not re¬ 
sist, and which w r as beyond the speed of horses driven 
to their swiftest pace. 


* Matt. iii. 17. 




118 


HEROD ANTIPAS 


CHAPTER YI. 


THE CONFLICT IN TIIE WILDERNESS. 

“ WIio is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Boz- 
rah ? this that is glorious in his apparel, traveling in the greatness of 
his strength ?” Isa. lxiii. 1.” 

“ For every battle of the warrior is with confused noise, and garments 
rolled in Dlood, but this shall be with burning and fuel of fire.” Ibid. ix. 5. 

We speak of what is real. Let those who disbelieve 
turn away, as they would have done in the wilderness 
of Sinai, when that <k great sight” was presented to the 
wondering but adoring eye of Moses, the servant of 
Lord, of “a hush burned with fire, and yet the bush was 
not consumed.”* Taught of God,—not deluded by 
sparks of his own kindling, Moses did not turn a dis¬ 
dainful ear to the Voice from the bush. When the 
Angel of the Lord appeared in a flame of fire, out 
of the midst of the bush, he did not refuse to hear the 
Voice that spake, but with reverent ear listened, amid 
the deep solemn hush of the wilderness. This was no 
chimera of the brain; no vision of the distorted fancy; 
it was an actual appearance of God to man; it was one 
of his modes of communication. And why should not 
God communicate with man, whom he has made almost 
equal with himself, and with whom he intends to share 


1 Exod. iii. 2, 3. 




CONFLICT IN THE WILDERNESS 


119 


his glory? It is man’s own dullness of vision that in¬ 
terposes an obstacle to the sight and knowledge of God 
—that places God so far off—that does not perceive 
the actual nearness of his presence. Let the film of 
unbelief, of sordid lust, be removed from the interior 
eye, and then God will be seen walking in the garden 
as of old; his voice will be heard; and intercourse di¬ 
rect, personal, without opposing obstructions, will at 
once be opened between the creature, helpless and de¬ 
pendent, and the Creator. That will not be jargon, 
rhapsody, which speaks of God as dwelling with man— 
his companion and friend. 

IIow shrouded in mystery is human life—the origin 
of being—the nature of the soul! What has philoso¬ 
phy taught on this subject? How empty are its specu¬ 
lations ! To what do they amount ? Who is any the 
wiser for them? They do but tend to make the gross 
darkness of the mind more visible. 

Who can understand God or his ways! The exist¬ 
ence of evil, of crime in our world, how, in every age it 
has baffled the deepest thinkers, the most philosophic 
minds ! The best of men among the heathen, Socra¬ 
tes, entirely despaired, toward the close of his life, of 
finding any remedy for sin and crime, and the innu¬ 
merable ills which follow in their train, unless the gods 
themselves should come to his assistance. And yet it 
was the study of his whole life to find such a remedy; 
and he too confessedly the wisest of them all. In his 
despair, God sent into his mind a ray of light; and he 
was taught where to look for effectual succor—even to 
the appearance of the great God in our world. What 


120 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


arm but that which “ taketh up the isles as a very little 
thing” is able to accomplish such a work! What wis* 
dom but that of the Infinite One can devise a plan 
which will be equal to the emergency. 

These prefatory remarks are not irrelevant to the 
subject matter of this chapter. Who can follow the 
Son of God into the wilderness, and enter into the 
agony of that awful and mysterious conflict with the 
prince of darkness—the overshadowing power of evil.* 
The pangs that were felt—those of a woman in child¬ 
birth are as nothing—though this figure is often used 
by the sacred writers to describe themj^^he keen cry ; , 
that rent the heavens^can never be told. It was the 
cry of anguish of a soul bruised for sin ; not for its own 
sins but the sins of others. It was the payment of the 
penalty of evil; the just and necessary payment. If 
God permitted sin to enter our world, he intended to 
expiate it in a way that should show its utterly evil and 
bitter nature, to the wonder of angels and men, and to 
the firm establishment of truth and righteousness on 
an everlasting foundation. It is a depth too deep for 
man to explore Let the results in so far as they have 
been shown, and as they will yet be more fully shown, 
when the whole scheme is know r n, vindicate God. 

The first of a series of dreadful conflicts with invisible 
powers began in the desolate wilderness. Earthly king¬ 
doms are established by the sword, with “ confused 
noise, and garments rolled in blood.” Here is a battle 
fought in secret; and the wave that rushes along, the 
waters that toss themselves on high—that rage and 
roar—do but faintly indicate the dire distress which 


CONFLICT IN THE WILDERNESS. 


1*2 i 

t x. 


the u Son of God,” endured d ring the period of his 
fasting and temptation in the wilderness, when hotly 
pursued by the enemy of all righteousness, with a depth 
of ingenious malignity, and an inveteracy, well calcu¬ 
lated to baffle and defeat any other being than God; 
but God in human form. Hence the miraculous con¬ 
ception of the holy child Jesus; hence his nativity, ush¬ 
ered in by angels and witnessed by shepherds, hence 
the wails of infancy, the helplessness of childhood; 
hence the adolescence of Jesus, the gradual expansion 
of his mind; the slow' growth from infancy to man¬ 
hood,^that, in the guise of an heir of man, he might 
inflict a deadly blow on the original tempter, and, as 
man, redeem man: it belonging to the wisdom of God, 
and necessary to fulfil all righteousness, that the na¬ 
ture in which sin had been committed should suffer, 
and yet at the same time a perfect victory be achieved 
over all the wiles of the devil. When Christ came forth 
from the dread conflict of the wilderness, victorious, the 
kingdom of darkness received a fatal blow; thence its 
downfall began to be followed by its sure and ultimate 
overthrow. 

He must be dark indeed who does not see through¬ 
out the whole of the sacred writings the design of God 
to wage w ar with the kingdom of darkness ; and to bring 
destructions to a perpetual end. Shall evil forever 
triumph? This is the problem to be solved by the Bi¬ 
ble. What has the wit of man availed, irffthe six thou¬ 
sand years that have passed, since the introduction of 
sin into our world, to decide the contest, and to put an 
end to the power of evil ? Is sin any the less rampant 


122 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


now than when first it reared its deformed head? Not 
however, bj a single blow, but, in the wisdom of God, 
by a succession of blows, is the final conquest to be 
achieved, leviathan to be pierced, the dragon to be 
slain, and the earth to be completely redeemed from 
the curse under which it has so long groaned. As then 
the first of a long series of conflicts with the powers 
of darkness which will eventuate in the overthrow of the 
power of sin and Satan in our world, must we regard the 
mysterious conflict in the wilderness. Jesus came out 

v 

of it a conqueror; Satan retired from it vanquished ; 
foiled at every point; beaten back at every attempt. In 
a similar conflict with the first man of our race he suc¬ 
ceeded. Then was opened Pandora’s box. Grim disease 
came out and stalked forth ; pride, like that of Lucifer, 
rose up in the heart, and defid the Omnipotent; rage 
and fury, spread their arms, like the arms of giants, 
and sent fear and dismay wide abroad. The heart of 
man fell from a state of purity, and became the recep¬ 
tacle of every foul and hideous imagining; it lost even 
the power and the wish to discover what was holy and 
good. The soul became a fit cage for every unclean 
bird—for every vile and cancerous thing. The Second 
Man entered the lists: he was attacked by the same 
subtle and powerful foe, but he stood firm ag dnst every 
attack; he completely prevailed—he beat down Satan 
under his feet, and a new and heavenly life began: the 
heart of mad^became once more the chosen abode of 
purity; the seat and residence of God. Thence the 
tide flowed back, and the promise of a new heaven and 
a new earth became the life of the soul. But recollect, 


Conflict in the wilderness. 123 

reader, that this victory was won by the soul’s deepest 
anguish—in the exercise of such agonizing prayer, such 
deep, mental conflicts with the rulers of the darkness 
of this world, as to be likened to a victory obtained by 
“ burning and fuel of fire.” Not rhetorical is this lan¬ 
guage. In the solitary wilderness Jesus walked ; day 
and night, weary and faint; at last nearly famished with 
hunger, and expiring with thirst, he planted his feet 
firmly on the word of God, and was sustained by that 
alone—and not by any self-sustaining sufficiency. When 
became out of the dreadful contest with Satan and h 1J, 
having driven the battle to the gates, stained was his 
raiment—blood was sprinkled on his garments—red 
was his apparel, but he had come off victorious, and 
the earth revived once more, and man breathed freely 
again, as when the dove brought in her mouth to the 
ark a fresh olive leaf, plucked off the newly grown ol¬ 
ive tree. 


124 


HEROD ANTIPAS 


CHAPTER VII. 

IESUS PRESENTED TO THE PEOPLE OF ISRAEL AS THE 
JEWISH MESSIAH, BY HIS FORERUNNER, JOHN THE BAP¬ 
TIST, IN THE PRESENCE OF A DEPUTATION SENT FROM 
THE SANHEDRIN AT JERUSALEM. 

The scene of strange, mysterious conflict, to which 
we have adverted in the preceding chapter, occurred, 
as we conceive, in the wilderness of Sinai. There God 
tri d his people of old; there they were tried as by fire. 
How often they failed, through unbelief, let their histo¬ 
ry tell. Even Moses, their leader, in a passion of in¬ 
dignation at the apostacy of the people, threw to the 
ground the two stones containing the decalogue, and 
dashed them to fragments. And once, committing a sin 
of deep dye, overcome by the subtilty of the devil, he 
forgot himself, and did not give glory to the God of 
glory. He took credit to himself; he was, for the mo¬ 
ment, sufficient for himself. It was just the same as if 
he had given praise to a graven image, instead of to. 
God, the maker and upholder of all things. This was 
the devil’s orginal sin, the indulgence of a pride which 
detracts from God, and feels its own self-consequence. 
It was this idolatrous sin, persisted in, and not at once 
abandoned, as by Moses, which led to the expulsion of 
angels from their first happy estate—their bright and 
glorious abode. God will not give his glory to another; 


JESUS PRESENTED TO THE PEOPLE. 125 

nor his praise to graven images. Remember this, man, 
who settest thy nest on high—even among the stars- 
By every method Satan sought to excite pride, and to 
raise the feeling of vain emulation in the breast of the 
Son of man ; Jesus was proof against every seductive 
artifice of his wily antagonist; having conquered so 
often in this self-same wilderness, Satan expected to 
conquer the “ Son of God.” Moses fell by the wiles of 
the devil—but not Christ; and all the past defeats in 
that dreary wilderness, are now more than compensa¬ 
ted. 

Through Edom Christ came, driven along by the Spi¬ 
rit of God, as by the wind, to the wilderness of Sinai; 
he swiftly passed Bozra, one of its chief cities, as he 
was borne along; he returned more leisurely. He trod 
the ground that Israel slowly traversed, on its way at 
last, after the expiration of forty years, to the promised 
land. They did take possession; but afterwards lost it* 
through the same evil heart of unbelief that gave Satan 
the advantage over them so often in the wilderness. 
Now Israel’s King is on his way, slowly travelling the 
same long, weary road, to inaugurate a new reign, to set 
up the throne of David anew, and (looking beyond a 
captivity of eighteen hundred years) to “raise up the 
tabernacle of David that is fallen, to raise up his ruin«, 
and to build it as in the days of old.”* This glorious 
spectacle revived his fainting spirit on the dusty way. 
He saw, in the far off future, the travail of his sou], and 
w 7 as satisfied. He rejoiced in spirit as he saw the new 


* Amos ix. 11. 





126 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Jerusalem descend from heaven as a bride adorned for 
the bridegroom. World, world! at what a price hast 
thou been bought. What thoughts must have filled the 
mind of the “ Son of God”, as he thought of the past 
bistory of his people; contemplated their still more 
wonderful future; and looked forward to the happy day 
when “ in the seed of Abraham all the nations of the 
earth shall be blessed.”* 

Arriving once more on the ground where his fore¬ 
runner still ministered to the people—still declared 
that Messias would soon appear—nay, that he was 
already among them, though they knew him not,— 
Jesus took up his residence temporarily in an adjoin¬ 
ing village. This village was not far from Bethabara 
the place where John then preached. Happy village 
that received the “Son of Man,” in that early stage of 
his public career, before his name was bruited abroad, 
and while the dew of his youth was fresh upon him. 
Happy house that received under thine honored roof 
the Son of God! And happy inmates that sat at the 
same table, and listened to his discourse, who was him¬ 
self the “ living Bread, that cometh down from heaven.” 
Happy nights, during which the Son of Man rested his 


* Having finished what we had to say in regard to the “ Conflict in the 
Wilderness,” we remark that Milton, with great propriety, bases his “ Para* 
dl; e Regained,” on the issue of this contest. As that went, so would the 
whole go: and as that was decisive for Christ, so would he be complete¬ 
ly victorious over his great adversary, ihe devil, in the end. As it respects 
tlie scene of the temptation, we may farther remark, ‘ the tradition which 
regards the mountain Quarantina, as the place of our Lord’s temptation, 
appears not to be older than the age of the Crusades.” Rob. Palestine, vol. 
ii. p. 303. 



JESUS PRESENTED TO THE PEOPLE. 


127 


head under that roof—sleeping at night—rising in the 
early morn. Memorable days and memorable nights— 
though but little trace of them is left on the unerring 
page, in the brief history of the Son of Man. 

The people had begun to grow weary of the reitera¬ 
ted declarations of John the Baptist, that the expected 
Messiah would soon appear. Two years and a half had 
passed, and the Messiah did not come ; and the inquiry 
arose, “ Is not John the Baptist the expected Messiah ?” 
Among other enigmatical things that John had said, 
(enigmatical in the then state of their minds) was this, 
“After me there cometh a man which is preferred be¬ 
fore me; for he was before me.” # Had they understood 
these words, it would have settled the vexed question: 
for John, divinely illuminated, filled with the Holy 
Ghost from the womb, spake here of the existence of 
the man Christ Jesus as God, and that as God, he was 
indeed “before him”—-existing from eternity. Further¬ 
more, he had again and again-; in the course of his min¬ 
istry, spoken of the baptism of Jesus in contradistinc¬ 
tion from his own : these were the words: “ I indeed 
baptize you with water unto repentance: but he that 
cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am 
not worthy to bear: he shall baptize you with the Holy 
Ghost, and with fire.” t Here were statements wholly 
at variance with the opinion that John was the Mes¬ 
siah. But the people did not understand, neither did 
they sufficiently weigh the expression. The baptism 
of the Holy Ghost—what was that? What did this 


* John i. 30. 


f Matt. iii. 2. 




128 


HEIIOD ANTI PAS. 


mean? Who was this coming personage, of whom so 
great a prophet—hardly, if at all inferior to Moses in 
the power and authority with which he spoke—had 
said, “whose shoes I am not worthy to bear.” Not 
worthy to bear his shoes ? Could this be spoken of 
other than God? Would it be proper, or consonant 
with truth, thus to speak of any created being—even to 
the highest archangel ? Most surely not. Here is no 
flower of poesy, but plain, downright speech. Then, 
again: Who is this, of whom John says, “ He that com- 
eth after me is mightier than I ?” In what does this 
greatness consist ? Is it the might of a warrior’s arm 
in the day of battle ? Is it human might ? Or, does 
John speak of the “ Mighty God,” not with the uplifted 
thunderbolt in his hand, not as seen in the whirlwind, 
or fire, or earthquake, but in the bestowment upon man 
of the gift of the Holy Ghost. This gift should demon¬ 
strate, in a new, unheard of manner, to a wondering 
world, who Jesus was. This should prove in the most 
direct way, that Jesus was indeed God. The Holy 
Ghost himself would convincingly testify to this great 
fact. Elijah, wrapped in his mantle, and with his face 
to the base of the rock of Horeb, saw prospectively the 
manifestation of God in the flesh—the embodiment of 
grace and truth. This was the low voice that whis¬ 
pered mercy to his distressed and burdened heart; that 
spoke in accents softer and more melodious than the 
aeolian harp. The soft night wind never came more 
soothingly to the human heart; never touched the 
chord of sympathy more gently. What became of the 
griefs of Elijah after the sound of this low, soft, sweet 


Jesus presented to tiie people. 


129 


voice, falling so lovingly on his entranced ear? His 
sighs, his plaintive sighs, whither had they fled ? The 
God of mercy had bound up all his wounds with a 
single word. John, who came “in the spirit and the 
power” of Elijah of old, so understood the gift of the 
Holy Ghost—as going down to the bottom of human ill, 
and as finding a remedy for human grief in the renova¬ 
tion of the soul; restoring the image of God in man; 
rectifying the passions; and producing the most pro¬ 
found submission, in every circumstance of life, to the 
divine will; and in the annihilation of self t and the su¬ 
preme glorification of the Creator: in a word, in the ex¬ 
altation of God, and the voluntary abasement of man. 
The Holy Ghost, what is it but the power of God to 
rectify all that is wrong in man, and to prepare him to 
become the friend and companion, as he was originally 
designed to be, of his Maker. The gift of the Iloly 
Ghost, the “promise of the Father,” what is exprcsssed 
by the use of these terms, apparently so mysterious, 
but the consummation of the work of God in the soul 
of man, and his highest elevation in the scale of being* 
forever. Has not God kept back his greatest gift to 
the very last ? 

Had the people understood the language of John the 
Baptist, they would not have been at a loss to know 
that he was not the Messiah. Entangled in specula¬ 
tions by the long delay, they were perplexed by their 
own groundless imaginings; for John had said plainly 
enough that the Messiah was yet to come. The same 
dreamy speculation and curious questioning, perplexed 
the Sanhedrin; and they also, not knowing what to 


in;ROD ANTIPAS; 


3^0 

think, about the time of Christ’s return from the wil* 
d rness, sent a special deputation to John, to inquire 
whether they were still to look, after so long a time, 
for one yet to come. What could John do but what 
he had done so often before, point them to the Messiah 
who was yet to come. But the period of protracted delay 
was now at an end, and ere they left the ground, he 
directed them to Jesus, standing now T among them, as 
the Messiah; and in confirmation thereof detailed to 
them the sign which God had given, immediately fol¬ 
lowing the baptism of Jesus : 

“And John bare record, saying, “I saw the Spirit 
descending from heaven like a dove, and it abode upon 
him. And I knew him not, but he that sent me to bap¬ 
tize with water, the same said unto me, Upon whom 
thou slialt see the Spirit descending and remaining on 
him, the same is he which baptizeth with the Holy 
Ghost. And I saw and bare record, that this is the 
Son of God.” * 

Thus it w'as with the shepherds of the plain. They 
had a sign given to them by which they might know 
assuredly, each one for himself, as he looked and saw 
the infant Jesus; Simeon, also, had a sign, no doubt, 
by which he might unmistakably distinguish the holy 
child; the Magi were guided by a star to the very 
place of his birth; and to John the Baptist, his fore¬ 
runner, was given an amazing sign. How could doubt 
rest on his divinely inspired mind after this? What 
he saw and heard, that he declared. In the instances 


* John i. 33, 33. 31 s 



JESUS PRESENTED TO THE PEOPLE. 13 L 

that wc have given, the signs came from heaven; there 
were no visible marks of power or authority in the 
child, or as yet in the man. He was, in appearance, as 
any other child; as any other man. The testimony that 
Jesus was the Messiah was built on the declarations 
of angels, and what the individual witnesses saw and 
heard for themselves. There was, in each case, an 
actual fulfillment of what had been pro-announced: or 
else, such a signal token, as the star, for instance, that 
no doubt could rest on a divinely taught mind. 

When John pointed out Christ as the Messiah, there 
was nothing in his outward appearance, in the circum¬ 
stances by which he was surrounded, to attract, partic¬ 
ularly, the public regard. There was on the other hand 
much to make what he said look dark and unintelligi¬ 
ble. Jesus was alone—unknown—with no appearance 
of authority. It is true, he bore upon his person all 
the marks of prophecy; he was as a prince in disguise ; 
but the people saw none of these outward indications 
of his rank and greatness. They were called to believe 
upon the testimony of John: “And I, John, saw and 
bear record, that this is the Son of God.” 

This was the peculiar characteristic in the presenta¬ 
tion of Jesus to the people of Israel as their Messiah. 
Faith in the declaration of John as a prophet was re¬ 
quired on the part of those who should receive and ac¬ 
knowledge Jesus as the Messiah, this would infold him 
in their bosoms. Thus it is by faith that the mind is 
moulded into the image of Christ; we receive, in the 
exercise of a lively, active faith, the stamp divine on 
the soul. The exercise of faith in the word of God 




HEROD ANTIPAS. 


spoken directly by himself, or by tne mouth of nil Ins 
holy prophets, is the process by which we are con¬ 
formed to the image of the incorruptible God. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FIRST DISCIPI.ES. 

On the second day after the re-appearance of Jesus 
on the plain—the day after that on which Jesus had 
been pointed out as the Messiah, not only to the peo¬ 
ple, but also to the deputation from the Sanhedrin, as 
the sun was slowly sinking behind the high mountains 
on the west—as the day was declining, and long sha¬ 
dows were projected along the plain, forewarning of 
the approaching night, and the close of another day, 
John stood, with two of his disciples, in the shade per¬ 
haps of the high western hill. How grateful is the 
shade of great rock, or hill, from the burning sun, from 
his fierce beams. Jesus passed slowly along. After 
what John had publicly said the preceding day, we may 
readily imagine what an object of general attention 
Jesus must have been. What numerous inquiries were 
made! How closely was his person scanned! All his 
movements were watched—every eye was upon him! 

This could hardly have been otherwise, in the very 
nature of the case. That there was a general feeling 



TIIK FIRST DISCIPLE J. 


of disappointment there can be no doubt. Had they 
studied carefully the word of God this would not have 
been the case. Why were not the shepherds disap¬ 
pointed? Why not the Magi? It was because they 

had been taught in a different school. After their lon<* 
■ . ° 
and wearisome journey, and great anticipations, they 

found the child Jesus in the very condition described by 
prophecy. They drew their conclusions, not from the 
vain ideas of man, governed by carnal wisdom, but from 
the teaching of God himself. They knew that in the 
great work of human redemption God’s ways are not as 
our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts. They 
were content with the wisdom of God; with his plan. 
John saw that his testimony, so explicit, so unequivo¬ 
cal, had not produced the desired effect. On the after¬ 
noon in qu stion he pointed out Jesus, in particular, to 
two disciples at his side, in connection with these sig¬ 
nificant words, “behold the Lamb of God!” How little 
those two disciples of his understood the meaning of 
these words. Words pregnant with meaning of deep 
and high import. The two disciples of John left their 
master and followed Christ. Thus a stream will diverge 
from the parent branch, and flowing in another chan¬ 
nel, be lost, till both meet again in the mighty ocean. 
The three crossed the plain in company; many eyes 
following them till they were lost in the distance. And 
now night swiftly came on; the Jordan pursued its sin¬ 
uous course; the distant cities of the valley—among 
others Phasaelis and Archelais. to the north of Jericho 
—were shut out from view ; the opposite mountains, 
deepening the darkness of the valley, could be but 


134 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


dimly discern d along the face of the sky; silence suc¬ 
ceeded—day was gone. The world had seen its great¬ 
est day; redemption was begun. 

In an adjacent village the rest of the day, (it was 
four o’clock in the afternoon when Jesus with the two 
disciples of John left the plain) and it may be the night 
was spent. The two accompanied Jesus, “and saw 
where he dwelt.” They entered the house—they sat 
down—they partook with him the evening repast. It 
is not difficult to conceive how the hours were employ¬ 
ed. This is made clear from the result of the inter¬ 
view, for as soon as it was over, one of the parties, by 
name Andrew, a fisherman of Galilee, dwelling on the 
Jake of that name, (we have already briefly adverted to 
him) fastened to his brother Simon, and saluted him 
after this wise: u V[e have found the Messias.”* We 
send vesstds on distant voyages in search of precious 
cargoes : they return to us richly freighted ; our ware¬ 
houses arc filled, and our stores are running over. The 
wharves are piled with our goods ; the noble vessel 
having weathered many a storm, rides safely in harbor. 
We call our friends together; we make merry; we are 
elate with joy and hope. The future presents one long, 
unclouded day— and we expect ever to ride the topmost 
wave of prosperity. We are strangely blinded—singu¬ 
larly deceived; we are dazzled by a false light. W r hat 
had these men found? They had found the Messias, 
which in Greek is Christ—that is, the Anointed One 
of God—the appointed Deliverer of our race. This was 


* John i. 41. 



THE FIRST DISCIPLES. 


135 

the treasure which they found during that ever memo¬ 
rable interview; this was the news which Andrew, on 
his return, communicated with a glad heart and free, to 
his brother and fellow-partner, Peter. This is the sum 
of Scripture testimony,—that Jesus is the Messiah. 
The book proves this or it proves nothing. Whatever 
the beauty of its poetry, the sublimity of its language, 
the excellence of its precepts, the soundness of its mo¬ 
rality—however vivid many of its historic pictures— 
perfect specimens of word-painting,— all this would 
avail little, apart from the testimony which is furnished 
in every page, from the beginning to the end of the 
book, that Jesus is the Messias. To testify of Christ is 
the alpha and omega, the beginning and the > nd of the 
ancient Hebrew 7 Scriptures. “ The testimony of Jesus 
is the spirit of prophecy.” * This condensates prophe¬ 
cy. Take this key and apply 7 it to the Hebrew Scrip¬ 
tures and its most secret stores are opened,—every hid¬ 
den repertory is disclosed to our view. 

Jesus had culled the flowers of prophecy;—from the 
law of Moses, from the inspired Psalms of David, from 
the prophets, he had selected various passages, com¬ 
mented on them, and showed how they applied to him- 
self. The circumstances of his birth, we may readily 
im'gine, were dwelt upon; those also which preceded 
his birth ; his miraculous conception,—in connection 
with the sign of deliverance given to Ahaz, king of Ju¬ 
dea, “ Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, 
and shall call his name Immanuel.” f Reference we 


* Rev. xix. 10. 


f Isa. vii. 14. 








UKKOD ANTI PAS. 


1°6 

may suppose, was made to his descent and parentage, 
as the son of David, as the son of Joseph. His long 
residence at Nazareth was adduced in proof, or rather 
in confirmation of his claim as the Messias. If we do 
not see this so clearly, they to whom he spake did. 
Jesus, we conceive, entered into various details ; and 
their ears were opened to the reception of what he said. 
The tender, susceptible heart of one of the two, (John) 
how it must have melted, even as wax before the fire, 
at the words of Jesns. 

Apart from the testimony adduced from the Scrip¬ 
tures, and accompanying facts to show that Jesus was 
the Messias, had they not also the oracular testimony 
of John ? Is it not, also, highly probable, that many of 
the facts presented by Jesus, had reached their ears in 
their childhood and youth, and had greatly impressed 
their minds ? The mother of John, had she not re¬ 
counted them to her son? The mother of these two 
young men, Galileans and disciples of John, it is clear, 
had been prepared by previous religious training (even 
as the shepherds had been thirty years before) to re¬ 
ceive and acknowledge Jesus as the Messias upon suf¬ 
ficient evidence. They weighed what they heard; they 
sought their proof in the Scriptures;—all that Jesus 
up to this time told them -of himself, corroborated his 
words. It was left to the future to unfold, and more 
fully to confirm the word of prophecy as it respected 
Jesus ; every day would furnish new developments : but 
for the present the proof was satisfactory, and they 
were satisfied. They returned to the ground on ti e 
following morning with this testimony on their lips. 


THE FIRST DISCIPLES. 


137 


“We have found the Messias.” John lost, Jesus gained 
two disciples. They were his first. 

The breath of early morning blew sweetly and softly 
over the fragrant plain; and well it might. The day¬ 
spring from on high had visited our earth; the Sun of 
righteousness was soon to arise with healing in his 
wings. The carol of birds was sweet; sweeter than 
ever before. The music of the wind, was not low and 
plaintive, as a sighing dirge, but it broke on the ear 
with a sound of gladness, transporting the soul with joy. 
It was as if grief arid care were gone; and the last 
cloud of earth had passed away. The river danced in 
its joyous course; the sun shone with new splendor. 
All nature betokened its joy in the presence of its au¬ 
thor ; and from each neighboring hill came the shout, 
heard far and near, “ a King in the camp.” My heart 
why dost thou mourn ? Why art thou so sad ? Why 
do tears, poor sojourner, constantly flow down thy 
cheeks? Why art thou, 0 man, so heavy hearted, bur¬ 
dened, oppressed? Here is a balm for every wound, 
the name of “Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of Joseph.” 
He came into the w r orld to dry our tears; to relieve 
our heavy burdens; to comfort the disconsolate,—Wake 
the song of joy anew in thy heart. Do not weep and 
sigh forever. The present testimony of Jesus is the 
consolation of wounded hearts! Thou art indeed the 
comfort of the distressed. This, mourner, is the test¬ 
imony of Jesus,—the comforter, the consoler. 

With joyful haste, on this fair morning, Andrew 7 
brought his brother Simon to Jesus. The testimony 
of Andrew was received by his brother; he accredited 


HEROD AKTIPAS. 


i m 

is. His heart, also, had been prepared by previous 
training, under the influence of the Holy Ghost, to ac¬ 
knowledge Jesus as the Messias, as he listened to his 
brother’s account of the interview of the preceding eve¬ 
ning. His doubts vanished; his fears were removed; 
he was convinced even before lie saw Jesus. His bro¬ 
ther’s words found a ready response in his heart; and r 
perhaps, his regret was that he had not received the 
witness of John the IHptist. No sooner did Simon 
approach Jesus, than the latter, foreseeing the strength 
and energy of his faith, addressed him thus. u Thou 
jirt Simon, the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cep¬ 
has/’ or Peter. * 

What a word was this, from the u Son of God” 
Peter -a stone. We all know what this meant; to 
what it referred. It was a prophetic designation, sim¬ 
ilar to that which Jacob receiv'd, when he was sur- 
named Israel, because when he contended with the an¬ 
gel, he prevailed. It was the faith in God, in his word, 
of promise, which Jacob exercised, on this occasion, 
which gave him the cognomen of Israel, more illus- 
incus than that of Asiaticus, or Africanus, which the 
Romans, in honor of their splendid achievements, gave 
to the two Scipios. And well did Simon, by his in¬ 
domitable faith in Jesus as the Messias, earn this il¬ 
lustrious title. To what did his heart cling as to this 
great fact? It was his life; the soul of all his actions 
That Jesus was truly the Messias—the “Sent” of God 
took the deepest hold of his understanding, and his will. 



* i. 




139 


'I HE FIRST DISCIPLES. 

Let others disbelieve, he belie\ ed. He was free from 
fear, or doubt; he was absolutely “ sure” of this. Tlu 
light on this point, which lie received, came down from 
God: it was a supernatural revelation,conveyed into his 
mind by the Holy Ghost. 

It was his strong, unwaveiing faith in Jesus, as the 
Messiah, which gave such elevation to the character 
of Simon Peter. Like a noble vessel, struggling with 
storm and tempest, sinking now into the low trough of 
the sea, nearly submerged, and anon rising unharmed 
to the top of the highest wave, he presents a magnifi¬ 
cent spectacle. What greater word than this can be 
spoken, when it proceeds from full, overflowing con¬ 
viction, “Thou art the Son of God.” There is life in 
this word, as in no other word; it gives wings to faith; 
omnipotence to prayer. The absence of it is death. With 
uuconquerable tenacity Simon Peter held to his faith 
in Jesus as the Messiah; and has thus earned in the 
world’s history a place among its heroes second to none. 
His is the meed of an honored name; not for feats in 
arms, not for the splendor of his talents, not for native 
^emus, not for discoveries in science or art, not as a 
painter, or poet, but what is of infinitely more im¬ 
portance, and of more enduring value, for his indomit¬ 
able, unwavering faith in Jesus, as the Messias, the 
Christ, the Son of God. “ And when Jesns beheld him, 
he said, Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt 
be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, a stone.” 

What a day of glory, truth, love, and power, was 
that to the two brothers, Andrew and Simon. All these 
uopes were garnered up in the Messias—the Messias 


140 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


\ 


of -their Scriptures;—and unlettered as they were, little 
acquainted with the philosophy of Aristotle, or the lan¬ 
guage, literature, or history of the Greeks (they knew 
but one language) they knew there was but one hope 
for the redemption of the world, and that was to be found 
in Christ. They had already learnt the force of these 
words,—“To whom shall we go? Thou alone hast the 
words of eternal life.” It was not to philosophy, letters, 
or art, or poesy, or discoveries in science, that they 
were to look, not to the highest flights of eloquence, to 
the orations of Demosthenes or Cicero, not to the un¬ 
foldings of the most argumentative minds,—but to the 
Messiah of the Jewish Scriptures for the knowledge of 
the remission of sins—for true peace—for the resur¬ 
rection of the dead—the removal of the curse from our 
earth, the obliteration of fear and sin and life everlast- 
ing. 

Their vessel anchored safely here—rode gaily that 
day. Storms were to be encountered on a troubled 
ocean; but for the present, all was calm, joy, hope, 
peace. 

Another sun descended, and night cast its canopy, 
glittering with stars, over the silent plain. Many a 
city on either side of the valley sank from bustle and 
glare into the silence and shade of night. The multitude, 
attendant on the ministry of John, slept mostly on the 
ground, wrapped in their mantles. Jesus himself re¬ 
tired, as on the previous night, to the adjacent village. 

It is hardly necessary to say any thing further on 
this topic. On the third day after his shewing unto 
Israel, Jesus, with five disciples, taken from among the 


THE FIRST DISCIPLES. 


141 


followers of John the Baptist, his forerunner, set out 
upon his return to Galilee. The panoply with which 
these disciples were armed was the conviction that 
Jesus was the Messias. This constituted a complete 
suit of armor; sword, helmet, breastplate, shield, what¬ 
ever was necessary either for aggressive or defensive 
warfare. Thus armed, they stood firm, invincible. They 
were warriors after God’s own heart. The name of God 
was on their foreheads; the love of God was in their 
hearts : they were animated by divine zeal. They were 
not, it is true, as yet fully instructed; they had learn¬ 
ed the first lesson of Christian doctrine. They had 
learned that Jesus w r as the Messias; one and all. from 
supernatural conviction, had confessed this. This, up 
to this point of time, v r as the word of their testimony ; 
they had yet to learn what was still more important— 
that the Messias w'as Jehovah. These two points con¬ 
stitute t ie sum and essence of Christian doctrine. All 
the other vital parts are deduced from this source; 
they flow from it, and are merged in it. In the absence 
of the knowledge of the second point they must be called 
learners; when instructed in both heads of the “ mys¬ 
tery’' of Christ, tli y will be prepared to become teach¬ 
ers. When they shall have received “ the promise of 
the Father,” when they shall be “ baptized with the 
Holy Ghost and with fire”—when all shall have been 
fully confirmed by the resurrection of Christ from the 
dead, and the descent of the IToly Ghost, then, with an 
unwavering faith, and a holy z al, proportioned to this 
faith, tli y will say, unhesitatingly, “My Lord and my 
God.” 


JIEROD ANTIPAS. 


1 i' 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE MARRIAGE IN CANA OF GALILEE. 

“ And the mother of Jesus was there.” John ii. 1. 

It is a matter of devout satisfaction, of holy reliance, 
in reading the records of the New Testament, that they 
are true. Whatever else is not true, these are true and 
faithful records. They are the records not only of holy 
men, but of men who spoke by the Holy Ghost. That 
they were holy men is the same as saying that they 
were honest; that they faithfully transcribed what they 
either saw or knew for themselves, or heard from those 
who were “ eye witnesses” of what they reported. The 
soul is fed by the knowledge which it possesses that 
the facts in relation to “Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of 
Joseph,” are veritable narrations. “That,” says John, 
the beloved disciple, “ which we have heard, which we 
have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, 
and our hands have handled of the word of life, declare 
we unto you.” * 

On “ the third day,” after his shewing unto Israel, 
the day on which, Jesus, with his disciples, leaving the 
Jordan, and the ministration of John, set out for Gali- 


* 1 John i. 1—3. 



THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. 


143 


lee, occurred a marriage festival in Cana, a village in 
the imm diate neighbourhood of Nazareth. The festi¬ 
val which lasted seven days, began on the day on 
which Jesus and his disciples set out for Nazareth 5 
this was the first day of the feast, a week would expire 
before the joyful solemnities would be concluded. * 
Jesus, and his disciples would reach Nazareth, about 
the middle of the week, when the festival would be 
half over; but the mother of Jesus, attended through 
the whole of the feast. Possibly, with many others, she 
went in the morning, and returned to her own home in 
the evening, as the two villages were but a short distance 
from each other, t The guests were numerous, though 
it was, in all probability, a marriage in humble life. 
This would seem to be shown from the circumstance 
that the wine failed in the middle of the feast. Just 
at this juncture arrived Jesus in Nazareth: what had 
lately transpired in the valley may have reached his 
mother in advance of his return. But whether this was 
so or not, undoubtedly his mother, by a divine intima¬ 
tion, which the Holy Ghost conveyed to her soul, knew 
that the time of the public manifestation of Jesus to 
Israel had arrived. God who had sent Gabriel to an¬ 
nounce to the virgin mother the birth of “a Son” did 
not withhold from her the knowledge that he would 
now begin to perform wonders and signs in confirm¬ 
ation of his divine mission. She was fully possessed 
with this idea. Her faith had been nourished by a se- 


* Judges xiv. 12. Nevins. Bib. Ant. p. 124. 
f Rob. Palestine, vol. iii. in loco. 







HEROD ANTIPAS. 


K4 


ries of remarkable events; events similar, in some re¬ 
spects, to those which had transpired, in former ages, 
in the history of her people. She knew that Jesus 
was the Messias; though, like the disciples, until after 
the resurrection from the dead, and the descent of the 
Holy Ghost—after that Son had visibly ascended into 
heaven—she did not know that the Messias was Jeho¬ 
vah. How could she have borne the intolerable gaze? 
or, the disciples, either, while in daily familiar inter¬ 
course. 

Jesus having returned to Nazareth, received, through 
his mother, an invitation, together with his disciples to 
attend “the marriage. 1 ’ He accepted the request; and 
about the middle of the feast, graced the marriage with 
his presence. His disciples accompanied him on this 
occasion. The bridegroom, with his friends, were in 
one part of the house; the bride, with her friends, were 
in another part of the house. The guests, both male 
and female, amused themselves in various ways. Sam¬ 
son, we know, as one mode of entertainment, proposed a 
riddle difficult of solution, and gave the guests the whole 
seven days to solve it. There was also, music, song, 
and dancing. It was not until the last day, in the eve¬ 
ning, that the bride in bridal array, and adorned with 
ornaments, was joyfully conducted to the house of the 
bridegroom’s father. “ All the interval was passed as 
pleasantly as possible. 

Marriage, holy institution: mystie tie—in its d cp and 
holy significance so little understood. Emblem of a great 


* Nevins. Rib. Ant. p. 124. 






The marriage in can a. 


145 


mystery—that which subsists between Christ and his 
church. If it could be understood in this sense, a sanc¬ 
tity not inferior to that of heaven itself would hallow 
the divine institution, and throw over it a charm which 
would never pass away. Its vesture would then be 
spotless;—its life immortal. Love descending from 
heaven would take up its abode in the heart; revivify 
it with the life of God, and two souls, as from a mirror, 
mutually reflect the beauty and purity which dwells 
within. There would be nothing low, sordid, base in 
lo\e, but heavenly love, sweetness, and truth, mark ev¬ 
ery thought, feeling, emotion. Holy tie: mystic em¬ 
blem. Hasten thou happy day when it shall be divine¬ 
ly felt and understood; and every hearthstone shall be 
hallowed as by the presence of God and holy angels. 
Little of the curse will then rest on our earth, and a 
new song will bo sung in every happy, .purified home. 
There will not be found a single discordant string; the 
design of God, in this holy institution, will be fully an¬ 
swered; and the wisdom and goodness of God will then 
be seen in the original formation of man and woman, and 
their holy and happy adaptation to each other. 

To return from this digression. It was a timely 
* juncture when Jesus arrived at the feast. The wine 
had run out; and the family, poor, as we suppose, were 
not able to provide more. The mother of Jesus, aware 
of this fact (though it may not have been known to the 
guests generally—certainly it was not known to the 
‘•ruler of the feast”) applied to Jesus. In this she did 
notact of herself, as we have already said; she was 
“led of the Spirit” so to act. In the Divine purpose, 




116 


HhiliOl) ANT1PAS. 


all bad been prepared beforehand. Jesus stood on the 
very threshold of his work; the seed had been ripening 
a long while; the liower was prepared to blow. The 
heart of Mary was calm, firm; this was produced by 
the strength of her faith. That faith had been tested in 
the miraculous conception of Christ the Lord, in a most 
remarkable manner; it was now to be tested in con¬ 
nection with the performance of the first miracle of our 
Lord on the earth. Why should any one stumble at 
this, who remembers the miracles of the Old Testament? 
It is the same power; the same Almighty hand; no 
less than the power that made heaven and earth. Is 
there any thing too hard for God to do? And who is 
Jesus but God manifested in the flesh ; God, dwelling in 
a human body, among men. Instead of hiding himself 
from our eyes—making darkness his pavilion, and riding 
on the wings of the wind; he has made himself visible 
to our dim vision; he has condescended to our weak¬ 
ness ; and walks wearily through our lower world. He 
sleeps; he hungers—and is athirst. Is his power any 
the less because the scene of the exhibition of it is 
changed; or because he is compassed about with hu¬ 
man infirmity and weakness. God has given to man 
power to do t. e works of the Creator—to raise the 
dead—to call down fire from heaven—to destroy as with 
a thunderbolt. Is he not free to act himself? What¬ 
ever the form he may assume, or the theatre in whic ; 
he may appear, Jesus is none other than the great 
God of heaven and earth; he has drawn the veil aside; 
and doeth the wonders of heaven among the children 
of men. 




THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. 


147 


When first told by Mary that there was no wine, Je¬ 
sus appears to reply with abruptness; the abrupt reply 
is but .in appearance, as the sequence sufficiently shows. 
Mary is no wise deterred ; she regards the reply in its 
true light, as a test of faith. Knows she not the im¬ 
measurable love that is hidden in that breast? Has she 
watched his infancy and childhood to no purpose ? 
She commands the servants to obey implicitly his direc¬ 
tions ; and ere long she receives the rich reward of her 
faith and patience in the immediate supply of an urgent 
want ; and the feast goes on to the end of the week 
with no want of the necessary supply of pure wine; 
and, at the close of the week, tin nuptial ceremony, 
blessed by the presence of Christ, and honored by the 
peiformance of his first miracle, and the manifestation 
of his glory, is happily concluded. The evening pro¬ 
cession closes the whole ceremony; bride and bride¬ 
groom enter the house in company; the lights dis¬ 
appear; the street is still; not even the sound of re¬ 
treating footsteps is heard; and darkness descends up¬ 
on the scene. All is silent and lonesome without. 



148 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 




CHAPTER L 


DRUSUS, SECOND SON OF GERMANICUS, DECLARED AN 
ENEMY TO THE STATE.-A. D. 30. 

At this point the narrative lingers. We do not pro¬ 
ceed rapidly. While events of infinite magnitude were 
transpiring in Judea, and opening the way, agreeably to 
the words of Jesus to Nathaniel, to “greater things,” 
than those we have recorded in several preceding 
chapters—a deeper gloom brooded over the island of 
Caprsea, and over Rome. Events came on fast. The 
arch-plotter, Sejanus, thus far successful in all his 
schemes, is about to experience a reverse of fortune; 
the mask is to be torn from his face ; and his crimes 
to be exposed in all their hideous deformity. A little 
interval is yet afforded him; a breathing spell in which 
to plan the ruin of the innocent, and to rejoice in his 
villany. Hardly had he succeeded in his machinations 
against Agrippina and Nero, than he attacked Drusus, 
Our readers will recollect that Sejanus induced this 
rash young' man to join the conspiracy against his 
brother from the consideration that the ruin of Nero 
would subserve his own speedy advancement to the em¬ 
pire. The infatuated youth cajoled by Sejanus, and 



DRUSES DECLARED AN ENEMY TO THE STATE. 140 

blinded by his own inordinate ambition, fell into the 
snare; and was used as an instrument in the hands of 
Sejanus to effect the destruction of his brother. This 
has been mentioned. Now came his turn. The min¬ 
ister, still enjoying the entire confidence of his master, 
employs the same art of address, and involves Drusus 
as an accomplice in the same imputed crimes as had 
caused the destruction of his rftother and brother. Se¬ 
janus, having effected his end, through Drusus, could, 
with scarce a pang, or one remorseful feeling, consign 
the young man to an infamous death. How can pity 
move a heart that seeks to mount a throne, seize Ihe 
empire of the ea^th through a sea of blood; through 
the commission of the most atrocious crimes ? 

Drusus, in early life, had been contracted to the 
daughter of M. Salvius Otho (afterwards emperor) “ be¬ 
fore she was of marriageable age.” * Disregarding chis 
engagement, Drusus married iEmilia Lepida, daughter 
of Manius Lepidus, who stood high in favour with Ti¬ 
berius. Sejanus “gained the affections” of Lepida, as 
he had previously done of Julia, sister of Germanicus, 
and wife of Drusus, son of Tiberius, and used her as an 
instrument to bring charges to Tiberius against Drusus 
her husband. “ She alarmed Tiberius every day with 
some new allegation; she renewed, with studied artifice, 
all that had been imputed to Nero and Agrippina, and 
in their guilt, with affected reluctance, involved Drusus 
as an accomplice.” f Sejanus was the instigator ; she 


* Life of Otho, by Suetonius, sec. 1. 1 


t Supplement to Tac. hook v. sec. 6. 






150 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


acted in conformity with his instructions. Ignorant of 
the relationship which Sejanus already sustained to 
Julia, sh ; was urged to this course, not only by her 
own passions, but by her ambition. Sejanus said that, 
on the death of Tiberius, she should share with her the 
empire; that they should, in due time, be united in 
marriage. Tiberius, hearing from Lepida, daily, th se 
accusations, consulted with his minister; he pretended 
to disbelieve the charges; took the part at first of the 
young man, and was his strenuous advocate, until “ in 
time the proofs were too strong to be resisted.” Then 
forsooth, he could no longer refuse credence to that 
which Tiberius alleged; the case was too plain; the 
young man was indeed guilty with his brother. Drus- 
us, at this time, was on the island of Caprese; he w r as 
in attendance on the court, little dreaming, probably of 
the baseness of his wife, or the hypocrisy of Sejanus. 
The minister met him with smiles; and deceived him 
with fair words ; his wife, with w r ell acted duplicity, 
masked her faithlessness and treachery. Tiberius took 
what Lepida said for granted; he did not give his 
grandson an opportunity to defend himself. Unheard, 
undefended, h v received orders to leave the island, and 
return to Rome. Not long after his return, through 
the art of Sejanus, his case was brought before the 
senate; Cassius Longinus, the consul, through the in¬ 
stigation of Sejanus, acted as prosecutor; the allega¬ 
tions were supported by false testimony; and the sen¬ 
ate supposing that they were furthering the views of 
Tiberius, (ignorant that Sejanus was at the bottom of 
the whole proceeding) passed a vote declaring Drusus 


CONSPIRACY OF SEJANUS. 


151 


a public enemy. Tiberius was surprised by the action 
of the senate ; ne\ ertheless, in a letter, he “ gave or¬ 
ders” that his grandson should be confined a close pri¬ 
soner “ in the vaults of the Palatium,”* the lower part 
of the palace; and that he should be guarded with the 
greatest care. Poor youth! From his dungeon he was 
never destined to come forth alive. About three years 
afterwards he died of starvation. It is said that “he 
was so rabid with hunger, that he attempted to eat the 
chaff with which his mattress was stuffed.” f 


CHAPTER II. 

CONSPIRACY OF SEJANUS.-PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. 

Having consented to the decree of the senate—hav¬ 
ing assigned to a dungeon his grandson—Tiberius pau¬ 
sed for a moment to reflect. Not having himself de¬ 
nounced Drusus to the senate—knowing how this body 
was constituted, and that they were willing tools in the 
hands of power—his thoughts turned to Sejanus, as the 
agent in the late transaction. The consul, Cassius 
Longinus, the prosecutor, was a friend of Sejanus; 
and had acted, he doubted not, at his suggestion. 
What did it mean? What did Sejanus mean? Sus¬ 
picion, at first dim and vague, arose in the slow, hesi- 


•' Suet 


ife of Tiberius, sec. 5i. 


I Ibid. 








HEROD ANTIPAS. 


153 

tating mind of Tiberius; he saw the family of Ger- 
manicus was nearly extinguished,—the youngest son, 
Caligula, was the only one that was left. With all his 
art Sejanus could not entirely conceal his own active 
agency in the fate of the young men. Drusus, his own 
son, was dead also. What evil agency was so actively 
at work, as a mysterious power, to remove the heirs of 
the empire, and to leave the tempting prize open to 
the cupidity and ambition of the favorite ? Suspicion 
once awakened, the eyes of the emperor were opened 
to the circumstances by which he was surrounded. 
Had he been deceived in Sejanus? Up to this time? 
(Tiberius had been three years on the island) the em¬ 
peror, relying on his minister, yielding the care of the 
government mostly to him, had followed the bent of his 
wishes to his heart’s content. Caring little for the in¬ 
dividual misery that he occasioned; unmoved by the 
death of his mother; uttering no word of hope or love 
by her bedside, as she lay sick and dying—he sought 
chiefly his own pleasure. Even his literary gratifica¬ 
tions were used as foils and stimulants to give ed°-e to 
sensual delight, and enhance his enjoyment. He had 
congratulated himself on the posture of his affairs; 
his mind free from the cares of government; his retire¬ 
ment unintruded upon; the pleasure of one day giving 
zest to that which followed. This was now changed; 

O' 

fear, disquiet, seized his mind. Most unexpected was 
the blow, from a quarter wholly unlooked for it came. 
This was a serious interruption to those festivites in 
which his life chiefly centered; harassing fear or anx¬ 
iety deadens these sensations. The tyrant who do- 


Conspiracy of sejanus. 


153 


lighted to fill others with anxiety has the cup put to 
his own lip; and is haunt d by fear. Suspicion has 

entered his bosom; and the confidential friend is dis- 

* 

trusted; ere long he is regarded as his most deadly 
enemy. What adds to the weight is that he has no one 
in whom to confide ; and outwardly he must appear to 
Sejanus the same as before. He must not show his dis¬ 
trust; on the contrary he must hide it deep in his own 
bosom. There must be no change of manner; no sud¬ 
den alteration of policy. The government must still be 
held by the minister; and neither the senate nor the 
people know, as yet, the alteration that has taken 
place in his mind toward the favorite. The power of 
Sejanus was so great that even Tiberius must proceed 
with caution in effecting his overthrow ; the pretorian 
guards, the senate, officers in every department of 
state, were his devoted servants; his pliant tools. 
As for Tiberius he was surrounded by those who were 
d voted to the interest of the minister; and conveyed 
to him all he said and did. The guard on the island 
did but obey his every behest. On this trying emer¬ 
gency Tiberius acted with a degree of caution and hyp- 
ocrital cunning which surpassed even that of Sejanus. 
He grasped his hand with the warmth of friendship; 
privately and publicly he spoke of him as his “best 
friend;” as “ the faithful minister,” as “ second in rank 
and dignity.” The ground was giving way beneath hi* 
feet; but these flowers of speech hid the opening crev¬ 
ice. Sejanus was transported with joy. Tiberius, still 
more effectually to hide this secret determination, of 
his own accord, referred to the marriage of Sejanus 


IltfROi) AXTIPA& 


1 % * 

with Livia, the widow of Drusus; a union which per¬ 
haps the minister, now involved with Lepida, would 
from policy, have avoided. He could not retract; and 
the inauspicious marriage was consummated in one ot 
the villas of the emperor, on the island; greaily no 
doubt to the chagrin and vexation of Lepida, the wife 
of Drusus. The artful minister contrived to soothe the 
faithless wife with blandishments, and to avert her 
dreaded hostility. Never had Sejanus seemingly stood 
so hio;h in the esteem and confidence of Tiberius as 
now; his popularity was without bonds. The people 
and senate regarded the minister as the chosen suc¬ 
cessor of the emperor, and heir of the Roman empire, 
and lavished on him—supposing that they were acting 
according to the wishes of Tiberius—every mark of 
public favor. 

Among other acts of regard, the senate ordered that 
the birihday of Sejanus should be celebrated every 
year; his statues set up everywhere, “in the forum, in 
the temples, and in private houses f vows were made, 
sacrifices offered, and oaths taken in the name both of 
Tiberius and Sejanus.* “The fathers passed several 
votes in his favor, and sent their deputies to the island 
of Capreae,” with distinct addresses of congratulation 
to the minister as well as his master. The body, deceiv¬ 
ed by the craft of Tiberius, thought that even this form 
of flattery, which placed the two nearly if not quite 
on a level, would be pleasing to the emperor; it must 
have been, in his then state of mind, a bitter draught 

' o 


* piou Cass. vol. 1. p. 240. 




CONSPIRACY OF SfcjANUS. 


165 


to swallow. In the theatre, also, a chair of gold was 
set for each. * The senators even began to withdraw 
their eyes from Tiberius, and to fix them on Sejanus \ 
insomuch that Tiberius feared lest they should indeed 
raise the latter to the empire.)* Apprehensive of the 
worst, the emperor did not drop the mask, but in his 
letters to the senate still continued to call him his Se¬ 
janus, tne companion of his cares. 

As a preliminary measure, Tiberius thought it ad¬ 
visable to remove Sejanus from the island, and to this 
end he “ proposed to make him joint consul with him¬ 
self,” as the man whom he especially delighted to hon¬ 
our. 


A. D. 31. 

In the beginning of the year of our Lord, thirty one, 
Tiberius entered upon his fifth consulship, with Se¬ 
janus for his colleague. One object of the removal of 
Sejanus from Caprese was to wean the pretorian guards 
from their former master, and to appoint a new com' 
mander. Some fifteen years had passed, since Sejanus 
received his commission as commander of the guards 
(his facher held the important office before him)—and 
from that appointment began his career : going to Lome 
to fulfil his duties as consul, Tiberius appoints Macro 
in his place, with the understanding that he is to resign 
on the return of the minister. In every way, until that 


* Dion Cas. p. 243. 


t Ibid. p. 142. 



HEROD ANTIPAS. 


loo 

last moment, the emperor seeks to hide his deep de¬ 
sign ; step by step, he moves with the greatest caution. 
An adept in dissimulation, he may have found, in the 
midst of his fears and mortal anxiety, a sort of pleas¬ 
ure in blinding his minister, and hiding from so keen a 
proficient in this kingly art, his deadly purpose. Se¬ 
janus left Capreae for Rome without apparently dis¬ 
covering any change in Tiberius. His heart beat high 
with the anticipation of grasping a prize for which he 
had risked all settled peace of mind, and to obtain 
which he had committed such heinous crimes. Blinded 
by the dazzling spectacle, he took the fatal step of 
leaving the island, exulting in the assured success of 
his schemes. The arrival of Sejanus in Rome produced 
a great sensation. “ The streets resounded with peals 
of joy. The senators, the Roman knights, all ranks of 
men pressed round the new consul with their congratu¬ 
lations. II is house was crowded, his gates were be¬ 
sieged, and all were eager to pay their court. 5 ’ * 

The first time for many years Tiberius was deprived 
of the society of Sejanus. Did he not feel the void? 
Most likely he did. It is not always easy to part with 
those whom we have loved and trusted, even though we 
have discovered their bad faith; the pain of severance 
is severe even then. The void cannot at once be filled; 
the heart that has been wounded mourns in spite of it¬ 
self. There is, also, the wound given to self-love; the 
mortification that we feel from this source is severe. 
Besides Tiberius was filled with alarm; suspicion hav- 


* Supplement to Tac. sec. 18. 



CONSPIRACY OF SEJANUS. 


157 


ing been aroused, he felt that it was necessary to keep 
a watchful eye upon the minister. He could not sleep 
in quiet as before. Dismal forebodings perturbed his 
mind, to which his absence from Rome, his seclusion, 
and the timidity and indecision produced by a life of 
inactivity and self-indulgence, greatly contributed. If 
he could not trust a bosom friend, a man whom he had 
. loaded with honors, and who, from obscurity, had been 
raised by him to the highest post of honor—whom 
could he trust? On whom depend? As he saw the ves¬ 
sel that bore Sejanus leave the island, and watched its 
course across the narrow channel, how lacerated must 
have been the bosom of the emperor. Did not the 
agony that he had caused others—the tears that he 
he had made Agrippina shed—the pain that he had 
given Nero—the anguish he had caused his mother— 
the gloom and fear that he had spread over the imperi¬ 
al city, come up in his remembrance ? Did he -not now 
drink of the bitter cup, which, relentless, unfeeling, he 
had put so often to the lips of others? The poisoned 
dart stuck in his flesh and drank up his blood; his 
veins were on fire ; sleep departed from his eyes. This 
is not a fancy picture; he says himself, about this time, 
in a letter to the senate, depicting his anguish and de¬ 
solation (his grief, we suppose, extorted the cry of dis¬ 
tress, hoping relief from the communication) “what to 
write to you, Conscript Fathers, or how to write, or 
• what not to write at this time, * may all the gods 
and goddesses pour upon my head a more terrible ven- 


*■ Suet. Life Tib. sec. 67. 




158 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


geance than that under which I feel myself daily sink¬ 
ing, if I can tell.’' _ v . r 

The judgment of God, though it may linger long 
sooner or later, iu some form or other, overtakes .the 
guilty, whether in a high or low position. Tiberius was 
no exception to this rule; retributive justice follows 
all; and proves the presence of the Omniscient eye. 
What horrors tore his heart at this critical period of 
his life! 

Tiberius well knew this was no time for negligence 
or delay. He wrote to Lucius Piso, prefect of Rome, 
a confidential letter, to watch all that passed in the 
city, the proceedings of the senate, and whatever might 
assume the form of hostility to the government. En¬ 
joining secresy, he directed him to watch the consul, 
Sejanus. Piso, Tacitus says, was “ a man of princi¬ 
ple.”* As governor of Rome, he contrived, amid the 
horrors, of the time, so as act as not to render either 
his office or himself odious to the citizens; he avoided 
harsh measures; and “with wonderful address, tem¬ 
pered the rigor of his rule.” f To him Tiberius had 
recourse, and found a faithful servant; he made no dis¬ 
closure to Sejanus—of all the men in Rome, he was the 
only one who had good ground to know that Sejanus, in 
part, at least had lost the confidence of the emperor, 
and that amid the applause which he received he stood 
on dangerous ground. To keep up appearances, while 
thus watchful, Tiberius continued to write letters to the 
senate in which he spoke of Sejanus in the same terms 


* Book vi. sec. 10. 


t Ibid. 




CONSPIRACY OF SEJANUS. 


159 


as formerly; expressing the highest esteem and the 
strongest confidence. He was still “ the prop and guar¬ 
dian of the empire; his associate in the administration ; 
his dear, his well beloved Sejanus.” 

“ While” says Dion Cassius, “the fortune of Sejanus 
was so flourishing, several of the most eminent men in 
Rome were put to death.”* They were those who seem¬ 
ed “to bend before him with abject humility”t Among 
the number was C. Geminius Rufus; he did not show 
sufficient deference to the arrogant minister; the van¬ 
ity of Sejanus was piqued, and he resolved’on revenge. 
The slightest failure in respect irritated Sejanus; it. de¬ 
tracted from his dignity. Geminius Rufus was accused 
on a charge of violated majesty; and by the senate was 
condemned to die. He fell on his sword; and his wife 
Publia Prisca, “ being also > accused of some crime, came 
to the senate with a dagger concealed under her gown, 
which she plunged into her breast before them all.” ^ 

The senate, about this time, with the servility that 
marked all the proceedings of that body, hoping to pro¬ 
pitiate alike the minister and the emperor, passed a 
vote extending their consulship to the term of five 
years. This probably was brought about through the 
influence of the minister who would thus have for so 
long a period the whole power of the state in his hands. 
This was a master stroke of policy on the part ot Se¬ 
janus; he did not dream of opposition. He was secure 
of his object and rejoiced accordingly; he communica- 


* Yol. i. p. 244. t Supplement to book v. sec. 19. 


t Dion Cass. vol. i. p. 244. 




160 


HEIIOD ANTIPAS. 


ted his success to Livia, his wife, and they both thought 
that the empire was attained. As for Tiberius, he 
was old' and infirm, and would soon be out of the way. 
So the guilty pair rejoiced, thinking the danger over— 
the last risk run. The decree which had passed the 
senate was sent to Tiberius. Nothing was farther from 
his wish; and contrary to his dilatory habits he soon 
gave the senate to understand this. It was an “ in¬ 
fringement upon the constitution,” he said. These were 
nice words for one, who following the footsteps of Au¬ 
gustus, had absorbed the constitution in himself. In 
the very commencement of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, 
“ the right of electing magistrates, by public suffrage, 
in the Field of Mars, was, for the first time, taken from 
the people at large, and vested in the senate.”* The 
people were thus deprived of their rights; as to the 
senate, they were supple tools; and -would vote to 
please the emperor. The dignity, the self respect of 
the body was gone. Had it suited Tiberius, it would 
have been all the same whether the term of the consu¬ 
lar office was extended to five or ten years ; but it did 
not suit him; hence, in labored phrase, with great ap¬ 
pearance of moderation, and respect for law, he 
smoothly talks of an infringement of that sacred bill of 
popular rights—the constitution. The constitution in¬ 
deed! written, or unwritten, it had been torn to shreds ; 
and neither person nor property were safe, if cupidity, 
fear, or hate, tempted the emperor or his minister’ to 
seize the one or the other. A dungeon, the rope, or the 


#■ 


* Tac. An. book i. eec. 15. 



CONSPIRACY OF SEJANUS. 


161 


axe, resolved all questions, and soon decided the ques¬ 
tion of criminality or innocence ; the Romans were safe 
as long as they respected themselves; their patriotism 
was pure—it was part of their religion: but when they 
lost their sense of religion, they, at the same time, in 
effect, lost their constitution, under whatever specious 
forms, or well sounding names, Augustus, or Tiberius, 
or their immediate successors, might administer the 
government. 

A popular constitution, to be preserved unimpaired, 
according to its true tenor, and the spirit in which it 
was framed, must find its safeguard and support, in 
hearts uncorrupted by faction, or the love of power or 
wealth; hearts free from mercenary motives and aims; 
and a love of country which is founded on trust in God, 
and an acknowledgment of an overruling providence in 
the affairs of individuals or nations. Little religion, at 
this time, remained to the Romans; hence the rapid de¬ 
cline, on the part of this once noble people, in virtue 
and true patriotism; hence the virtual overthrow of 
the constitution. Many a derisive smile crossed the 
face, amid the cringing servility of the senate, when 
Tiberius solemnly talked of the constitution; if the 
senate did bow the knee to a master, they saw behind 
the mask, and laughed at the farce. 

The next step taken by Tiberius, was to resign the 
consulship for the remaining part of the year; and to 
request Sejanus to do the same. The minister could 
not well refuse; so after holding the office some four 
months, he resigned. In the latter part of April, in 
the year of our Lord, thirty-one, Cornelius Sylla, and 


162 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Sexteidius Catullinus succeeded to the consulship. They 
were appointed for three months. 

This unforeseen movement of Tiberius filled the mind 
of Sejanus with alarm. He wished to visit Capreae and 
requested permission of Tiberius. It was not granted; 
Tiberius pretended that he was about to visit Home. 
The emperor, in his letters to the senate, which were 
frequent, would sometimes omit the name of Sejanus; 
and wrote in a manner that showed “ that he was -wean¬ 
ing himself from his favorite.” He also called Caligula, 
the youngest son of Germanicus, to the island; showed 
him much favor; and desired the senate to invest him 
with the dignities of augur and pontiff. This, he knew ? 
would touch Sejanus to the quick; but not quite ready 
to discover his plans, and hoping to blind the minister, 
he asked of the senate two more pontificates, one for 
Sejanus, and the other for his eldest son. Alternating 
between hope and fear, Sejanus hardly knew what to 
conclude; but at length was satisfied that there re¬ 
mained but one alternative—the deposition of Tiberius, 
and his own exaltation to the empire. 

Sejanus was a man of great energy ; and of no mean 
ability. Tacitus says of him, that, though fond of plea¬ 
sure, and an adept in the art of flattery—though pro¬ 
fuse, and luxurious, yet was he remarkable, also, for 
his “application to business, and indefatigable indus¬ 
try.” * These qualities did not forsake him in this emer¬ 
gency ; though he was sensible, when it was too late, 
that he should have acted sooner—when he was consul. 


* An. book iv. seo. 1. 




CONSPIRACY OF SEJANUS. 


163 


Then he had in his hands, by virtue of his office, the 
powers of the state. Still, availing himself of the re¬ 
sources at his command, he entered into a plot or con¬ 
spiracy against the emperor.* A formidable conspiracy 
was soon formed; Sejanus had no time to lose, and all 
his energies were employed. He used every method to 
increase the number of his adherents—bribes—the pro¬ 
mise of position—the blandishments of battery. There 
were many disaffected to Tiberius—these he sought to 
gain; there were the idle, the dissolute—all who hoped to 
improve their fortunes by a change; these he plied with 
his seductive arts. His powers of persuasion were ne¬ 
ver more conspicuously shown. Many members of the 
senate joined Sejanus; also, “many of the freedmen; 
the soldiery was corrupted; and the plot was come to a 
great height.”! Tiberius meanwhile was ignorant of 
what was transpiring; Piso, the prefect of the city, knew 
it not; and Sejanus would have succeeded had he not 
been betrayed. His chief friend and confidant, Satrius 
Secundus, (from what cause is not known) sought an in¬ 
terview w r ith Antonia, and made known the conspiracy. 
She at once deputed Pallas, “ the most faithful of her 
servants, and sent him to Capreae, to Tiberius. X This 
was the first notification which the emperor received 
of the extensive and dangerous conspiracy which Se« 


* Suet. Life of Tib. sec. G5. Suetonius explicitly states this. 

f Jos. Ant. D-. xviii. c. 6. sec. 6. Josephus was excellently informed on ma¬ 
ny points in’ relation to Tiberius ; and especially of the particulars of this 
“ dangerous plot,” as he terms it. 

t Ibid. 




164 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


janus so quickly formed to seize the sovereign power, 
and save himself from the fate to which he was exposed. 
The contest was sharp between these two men—but 
yesterday bosom friends; now the most deadly foes. 
Both were proficients in dissimulation ; both w r ere bold ; 
but Tiberius, having become conversant with the facts of 
the conspiracy, the result could not be doubtful. The 
towering ambition of the minister must end in his ruin; 
from a height of grandeur and prosperity, such as made 
him second only to the emperor, Sejanus must be pre¬ 
cipitated to the lowest depth of infamy and die a most 
miserable death. This is then to be the end of all his 
soaring thoughts; and the fit reward of his crimes. 


CHAPTER III. 

DOWNFALL AND DEATH OF SEJANUS. 

Tempted to evil—blinded by a false light — following 
evil counsels—steeping ourselves in guilt—sooner or 
later our $in finds us out; and we plunge often into an 
abyss from which vainly we seek to extricate Ourselves. 
Happy they wdio have not proceeded to a point from 
whence there is no return. 

Ignorant of the treachery of his bosom friend and con¬ 
fidential adviser, Satrius Secundus—little dreaming of 

© 

the secret-interview between him and Antonia—of the 
information which Tiberius had received through the 

o 



DOWNFALL AND DEATH OF SEJANUS. 


165 


messenger of Antonia (Pallas) of the disclosure of the 
conspiracy in its various ramifications, Sejanus, though 
uneasy, slept more or less secure on the edge of a preci¬ 
pice. He knew that Tiberius was changed toward him 
—that he no longer possessed his affection and confi¬ 
dence, but he little thought that he was in possession 
of such accumulated evidence of his guilt. Had he 
known this he would have struck the first blow; and 
not have waited until it fell on his own head. Trusting 

O 

to the secrecy of his manoeuvres, he hastened his move¬ 
ments, though delaying to take the inevitable step, un¬ 
til his plans were fully matured, and his party so strong 
as to overpower resistance; but Tiberius, fully inform¬ 
ed of what was taking place, acting in the dark, and, for 
once, w 7 ith dispatch, was beforehand with him. Cool, 
resolute, and imperturbable as ever, Tiberius, on his 
island, took the necessary steps to baffle the machina¬ 
tions of Sejanus, and to secure himself. 

Plis first step was to send Macro* to Rome, empower¬ 
ing him to take the command of the praetorian guards. 
He gave him the most minute and specific instructions 
how to act; guarding against danger at every point. 
We are told by Suetonius, j* that in case Sejanus was 
able to excite an insurrection, Drusus, held as a prison¬ 
er in a subterranean apartment of the palace, w y as to be 
liberated, and placed at the head of the troops. A son 
of Germanicus, it w^s thought that the troops would 
rally at his call, and flock to his standard. The emer- 


* Navius Serlorius Macro. Dion Cassius, vol. i. p. 249. 
f Life of Tib. sec. 67. 


/ 




166 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


gency was not such as to call for this; and the young 
man, Tiberius once freed from fear, was left to pine in 
his dungeon. Leaving the island, Macro arrived in 
Home under cove! of the night. “ The consuls at this 
time were Memmius Regulus and Fulcinius Trio, both, 
appointed to fill the office from the middle of August 
to the end of the year. 1 ’* Trio was “ known to be the tool 
and creature of Sejanus.” Macro, following the instruc¬ 
tions of Tiberius, put himself in communication with 
Regulus, showing him the emperor’s orders for Macro 
to take the command of the praetorian guards. Gracinus 
Laco, captain of the night guards, was also admitted 
into the secret; and directed how to act.t All the ar¬ 
rangements were made on that night for the next day, 
the fifteenth before the calends of November. The 
issue between the emperor and his once trusted, well 
beloved minister, was to be tried on this eventful day. 
It was deemed highly important that Sejanus should be 
taken off his guard; aud that he should have no oppor¬ 
tunity to call the soldiers—who were supposed to be 
devoted to his service—to his aid. The arrangements 
for the next day appear to have been made in a private 
conference between Regulus, the consul, Laco, and the 
confidential agent of the emperor, Sertorius Macro. 
Little thought Sejanus that night, or any of his con¬ 
federates, of what was going on; or how near to a close 
drew his short-lived dream of sovereign power. 

Meanwhile Tiberius, on his side, was not idle. “He 


* Supplement to B. 5. of An. s. 29. 
f Dion Cassius, vol. i. p. 2-18, 



downfall and death OF SE JANUS. 167 

ordered the fleet that lay at Misenum to assemble at 
the isle of Caprese,” intending, if any disaster happened, 
to seek refuge among his legions, and put himself at 
their head. Tiberius had shown himself a brave and 
skilful general; and would not be untrue to his former 
reputation. His danger recalled his energies and cour¬ 
age ; he who had shown himself so brave and expert in 
Germany, in Pannonia, in Gaul—who for his general¬ 
ship had commanded the admiration of Augustus—was 
not deficient now. His low pleasures—the dancing 
girls from Baise,—were, for the moment, forgotten. The 
chambers of voluptuousness, dug out of the rocks,—the 
“excavated grottos, galleries, bagnios, and other re¬ 
tirements that suited with the brutal pleasure of the 
emperor,” * were for the present forsaken, and left to 
their native darkness; the “pictures and statues” f 
with which these hidden chambers of imagery were set 
round—and which were so offensive to the eye, and 
shocking to modesty, were left to their own shame— 
unnoticed—untouched. They kindled no desires in that 
anxious, troubled breast; his life, the empire, were at 
stake. To convey the earliest intelligence of the events 
of the succeeding day, a line of signals had been estab¬ 
lished along the Campanian coast; they may not have 
quite reached Rome, but they would expedite the news 
of a successful result. The night preceding the fifteenth 
of the calends of November, in the year of our Lord thir¬ 
ty-one, and of the building of the city 784, must have 
been one of indeed fearful anxiety to Tiberius. From 


* Addison’s Remarks on Italy, p. 249. 



168 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


its lofty height gleamed the Pharos of Capreae, casting 
its red glare on the tranquil sea—upon which Tiberius 
looked, while his eye closely scanned the whole line of 
the adjacent shore, as, if he would pierce the darkness, 
and draw from its shadowy veil some omen of the com¬ 
ing morrow. 

We may easily suppose that Tiberius arose with the 
day to watch the first tidings conveyed by the signals 
along the line of the shore, brought from Rome to Sa- 
rentum. At the same time he knew that nothing would 
be done until the meeting of the senate. He relied 
mainly upon the activity and discretion of Macro, aided 
as we have seen by Piso, and Groecii us Laco, captain 
of the city guards. On the highest point of the east 
end of the island he stood, anxiously waiting and watch¬ 
ing the issue of the eventful day. Slow dragged the 
weary hours along; under the shore of the island lay 
the fleet at anchor; every preparation having been 
made for flight if necessary. Meanwhile at Rome things 
proceeded with rapidity. To lull Sejanus, early in the 
morning, Macro, through his agents, contrived that a re¬ 
port should be spread through the city that letters had 
arrived from Capreae, signifying that the emperor meant 
on that day to “ associate Sejanus with himself in the 
tribunitian power,” That no letter was sent to Sejanus. 
Macro accounted for on the ground that the appoint¬ 
ment would be communicated to the senate by the con¬ 
suls. This satisfied Sejanus ; he was u elate with joy,” 
and entered the senate house without fear. The senate 
met that day in the temple of Apollo, near the imperial 
palace. The consuls having arrived, Macro who had 


DOWNFALL AND DLATH OF SLJANUSi 


iG9 


followed Sejaniis into the senate house, having delivered 
the letter from Tiberius to them, Memmius Regulus 
commenced reading it. It was very long; and it was 
not until toward the close of the letter that Sejanus was 
directly charged with conspiracy against the emperor. 
“The conclusion of the letter was like a stroke of 
thunder. The fathers were covered with astonishment. 
As for Sejanus he was perfectly stupefied ; he moved not, 
spoke not; a moment before, on the bench on which he sat 
he was surrounded by his friends and flatterers; the next 
moment lie was deserted; not one was left by his side. 
The praetors and tribunes, after a little space, having 
gathered around him, Regulus, the consul, said, “Rise, 
Sejanus, and follow me.” The fallen minister, cast down 
from such a height of power in a moment, did not at 
first take the sense of what was said, but after the con¬ 
sul had spoken thrice, he rose in consternation and fol¬ 
lowed him. The news soon spread, and the populace 
were wild with joy. He was followed through the street 
with shouts of derision; his images of ivory were torn 
down, and his statues dashed to pieces. As much as 
he had been honored by the senate and people, he was 
now dishonored. Carried to prison, he was strangled; 
his body was subject for three days to every species of 
degradation, and then cast into the Tiber. 

He fell— 

“ Sejanus once so honored, so adored, 

And only second to the world’s great lord !”* 

What a fate ! 


* Juvenal, Sat. 10. 



170 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


- - He did but climb a tower 

Of giddy height, a heavier fall to prove, 

Hurled with tremendous ruin from above.” 

How dark the path of guilt! how insecure! What 
pangs, what fiery tortures are felt as we walk therein 
with an unsteady, hesitating step—always fearing the 
issue. Still we walk on while we can, as if led along by 
a power of evil which the will is too feeble to resist. As 
in the case of Sejanus, does the love of power—am¬ 
bition’s dazzling prize—lure us onward? How poor, 
after all, is the recompense. Any thing gained by crime, 
by bye-ends, is sure to come back is the end with its super¬ 
incumbent weight on our own head,—and to involve us 
in unspeakable misery and disgrace. How different is 
the path of virtue and truth; how sweet are its joys. One 
was now on the earth who was himself “ the way, the life, 
the truth.” How true were his words ! But what is more, 
by believing in his Name what power was communicated 
to the soul to be and do good. He that had the power 
to heal the body, had the power to heal all the diseases 
of the soul, and to invigorate it with a new heavenly 
}ife. What a contrast between a Sejanus and Tiberius, 
and the Teacher of Galilee. How lovely the life of the 
one ; how detestable the lives of the others—0 God, give 
us wisdom to walk in the way of goodness and truth un¬ 
tainted by the gross maxims and corrupt practices of an 
evil world. 


* Jufemil, Sat. 10, 




TIBERIUS AFTER THE DEATH OF SEJANUS. 


171 




CHAPTER V. 


TIBERIUS AFTER TIIE DEATH OF SEJANUS. 


Dion Cassius makes the following remarks on the 
death of Sejanus : 


“In the case of Sejanus, we may see a remarkable in¬ 
stance of the inconstancy of things below, which shows 
at the same time that our minds ought never to be exalt¬ 
ed with our good fortune; since this man whom every 
body attended in the morning to the senate, as the first 
in power, was a moment after dragged to prison as the 
last of men: he who had crowns consecrated to him. 
was loaded with chains; and, in a word, he that used 
to be surrounded with a train of guards for his honor, 
was now locked up like a felon.” * 

Juvenal, speaking of the humor of the giddy multi¬ 
tude ; at the fall of Sejanus, now 


4 -drngg’d by hooting thousands through the town,” 

says, had he been successful, their execrations would 
have turned into praise. Thus he speaks of the populace 
of Rome. 


* Vol. l.p. 252. 






172 


tlER&fc ANTII’ASi 


“ They follow fortune ;is of old, and liatCi 
With their who'e souls the victim ot the stntg. 

Yet would the herd, thus zealous thus on lire* 

Had Nurscia inet ihe Tuscan’s fond desire, 

And crush’d th’ unwary prince, have all combined, 

And hail’d Sejanus Master of mankind, 

For since their votes have been no longer bought, 

All public care has vanished from their thought ; 

And they who once, with unresisted sway, 

Gave armies empire, everything, away, 

For two poor claims have long respited the whole, 

And only ask , , . the Circus and the Dale.’ - * 

A scene of wild and lawless fury followed the death 
of Sejanus, occasioned by the praetorian guards, who 
leaving their camp, and rushing into the city, “ bore down 
all before them, committing depredations in every quar¬ 
ter, and levelling houses to the ground.” They were in 
censed because the city guards had been preferred to 
them. Macro, fearing lest they might take the part of 
Sejanus, induced them to withdraw from the city, and 
their station around the senate house, by the promise of 
a large donative in the name of the emperor; he also 
at the same time, gave them to understand that he had 
been appointed their commander, in the place of Sejanus. 
Thus invited, they followed Macro to their fortified camp, 
a little outside of the Avails of the city, to receive the 
donative. Hardly had the praetorian guards withdrawn 
when the city cohorts, 1 under the command of their 
leader Laco, instantly surrounded the senate house; and 


* Juv. Sat. 10. The number of persons in Home dependent for their daliy 
bread on the public treasury was immense. Augustus, we think, reduced 
the number from some 300,000 to 200,000. 

+ The city guards consisted of three cohorts, making 1,200 men; the pr«et<>- 
rian guards amounted to 4,500. blackwelPs Court of Aug. vol. 2, p. 434. 







F TlBKRlUB AFTER THE DEATH.OF SEJANUS. 1/3 

Sejanus Was cut off from all expectations of succor or 
escape. When the guards found how they had been 
treated, thoy vented their rage in the manner we have 
mentioned, doing much injury. The people, they also, 
in their rage, rose against such as had been instruments 
of cruelty in the hands of Sejanus; and many of them 
perished. Thus dark was the day in Rome, and many 
were the victims which fell, along with the wicked minis¬ 
ter, Sejanus. How felt the once honored wife of Drus- 
us, the younger Livia, she whom Sejanus had seduced, 
and who had imbrued her hands in the blood of her hus¬ 
band, when news came of the end of Sejanus. llow 
must her heart have sunk within her as she saw the 
populace in the streets, and heard their execrations of 
the minister. What a day for her! With what a crush¬ 
ing weight must she have felt her guilt; and how greatly 
have been unnerved by the dread of discovery. Perhaps 
she may have hid herself and her guilt in some far away 
chamber of the palace on the Palatine hill,—her bosom 
disquieted, dreading each sound of footfall approach¬ 
ing her door; and, perhaps, when too late, mourning ov r 
the irrevocable past. And now she is awaked up 
suddenly, as from a horrid dream; the delusion of sin 
is past, she can be cheated by fancy no more; the 
dreadful reality can not be superseded by the thought 
that the pa^t is a dream. No. It was only too real, 
too true ; and the unhappy woman was left to all the 
torture of guilt, and the fear of detection. Who so un- 
happy-as she! TIow full of dread! How bitter the cup 
which was put t> her lips! How sure—it slow--the 
just judgments of an avengi ig God. 



174 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Meanwhile Tiberius Caesar, on his little isle, on the 
top of the high cliff that overlooked Surrentum, watch¬ 
ed'with intense anxiety the signals along the coast, 
which, with relays of horses every five or six miles (.ac¬ 
cording to the usage on the public roads*) would bring 
the news from Rome.. Eventful news! big with his fate 
at least Near the island, lay moored the fleet, whichy 
by the order of Tiberius, had dropped down from Mism- 
ura, its usual naval station, ready for the last emergency. 
Tiberius greatly overrated the danger; and perhaps was 
surprised that Sejanus fell so easy a prey to his superior 
wiles. At all events before the eventful day had passed,, 
he learned the fate of his once trusted minister, and that 
the danger was over. Still, we are told, that to such a 
pitch had his mind been excited, and so great were his. 
fears, so mistrustful had he become, that he retired to 
his villa Jovis„—situated on the high promontory, over¬ 
looking Surrentum, and remained hidden within its walls, 
for the space of nine months.*)* Such was the end of the 
conspiracy of Sejanus ; and so fell his high hopes ; and 
the end of his ambition, for which lie had committed 
the most dreadful crimes. One w'ould suppose that his¬ 
tory, in its drear page, might teach the ambitious how lit¬ 
tle is eventually gained in reaching the giddy height of 
earthly glory, by steepir.g the hands in blood, by the com¬ 
mission of crimes, for the attainment of the desired object. 
Sooner or, later in many a case, they plunge into the pit 
which their own hands have digged, and perish miserably. 
How beautiful on the other hand, is virtue! How sweet 


* Gibbon’s Rome. Yol. i. p, 33. 


f Suet-- Life Tib. sec, 65. 





TIBERIUS AFTER THE DEATH OF SEJANUS. 175 

is the peace which it enjoys! How pure the joy which 
it imparts! How great is the bliss with which is closed 
the many changing scenes of human life. God has made 
virtue its own vindicator; and its smile is a joy forever 
Who, if well instructed, would leave the narrow path 
of peace, and be bitten by the serpent sin. Let light 
shine from heaven, 0 God, on the human mind; and let 
it return, benighted no longer, to its Creator, and reflect 
the image of the incorruptible God. 

The conspiracy and fall of Sejanus seems to have 
been nearly, if not quite cotemporaneous with the 
commencement of the ministry of Christ, during his 
visit to the city of Jerusalem, and a little before the 
imprisonment of John the Baptist by Herod Antipater, 
through the wiles and persevering animosity of Hero- 
dias. 

We turn now from Caprese and Rome, from Sejanus 
and Tiberius, to Christ and Jerusalem ; Jerusalem, the 
city of the great King. 


176 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


§ooli Sixth. 


CHAPTER I. 

CHRIST IN JERUSALEM. 

w Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thouyrt the King of Israel.” 

Up to the first public visit of Christ to Jerusalem and 
the Temple, after his baptism, fasting, and temptation, 
he had performed but one miracle, that of turning water 
into wine at the marriage in Cana of Galilee. He had 
preached the previous winter in Galilee, going from 
place to place; but performing no miracles. In the 
spring he came up to the feast of the passover, and dis¬ 
played his power publicly in the performance of miracles. 
That this was so is clear from what is said of his re¬ 
ception by the Galileans when, not a very long time after 
the feast, he returned to Galilee. “ Then when he was 
come into Galilee, the Galileans received him, having 
seen all the things that he did at Jerusalem at the feast 
for they also went unto the feast.” 

The preaching of Christ, the previous winter—we 
learn from the above passage,—notwithstanding the 
testimony of John the Baptist to that effect, had not led 


* John iv. 45. 







CHRIST IN JERUSALEM. 


177 


the Galileans to receive Jesus as the Christ; but when 
they saw, while attending the feast at Jerusalem, “ all 
the things that he did,” the “miracles” which he per¬ 
formed, then they regarded him with different eyes, and 
were dazzled by the halo that surrounded his name. 
Thus, as day opens, did the mission of Jesus to our 
world, gradually open to wondering eyes; and make its 
impression upon awe stricken hearts. 

Through the winter, then, directly preceding his first 
public appearance in Jerusalem, at the feast of the 
Passover, Jesus had simply preached in various parts of 
Galilee; the one miracle, which he had performed, had 
been witnessed by his disciples and the servants; but 
spring sweetly advancing, he had turned his footsteps 
toward Jerusalem; and now appeared, for the first time, 
in that city, heralded by many rumors; and pre-announ- 
ced to all the land, by a living prophet, whose name was 
in every mouth, as Jesus the Christ. lie came, too, at¬ 
tended by the feAv disciples, who had believed before they 
saw his miracle-working power. One of these was Na¬ 
thaniel, ay ho made the empathic acknoAvledgment Avhich 
serves as the motto for this chapter: “ Rabbi, thou art 
the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.” 

Thus accompanied, thus heralded, bis name and high 
office, preannounced by his forerunner, who, in the spirit 
find power of Elias, had thus prepared his Avay,—it is 
natural to suppose that from the time of his first ap« 
pea ranee in the thronged streets of the city and in the 
crowded courts of the temple, Jesus A\ T as the object of 
chief interest to all. For long years, for revolving cem 
turies, the JeAyish scriptures had testified of the coming 


178 


HEROD aNTIPAS. 


Christ; this was the chief burden of those writings ; this 
was the chief subject of ancient prophecy, the Testimony 
of Jesus, and lo! now—Jesus was here; the Messiah 
had come. Is it any wonder that all eyes were fastened 
on this personage ; and that the multitude hastened to 
listen to his words. His words charmed all hearts (even 
though they might not convince) in Galilee; will they 
be less efficacious in Jerusalem? But to words were now 
added acts ; acts, which plainly declared, that the King 
of the Jews was in their midst. These carried with them 
their own evidence; they spoke with weight to the heart 
and the senses. They clearly showed that the great power 
of God was among men. Here were works which none but 
God could do; none but the omnipotent Jehovah. Men 
were filled with holy wonder; they looked on for awhile 
in silent amazement; but soon the tide rose so high 
that, for a time, prejudice and doubt were overcome, and 
the great body of the people hailed him with acclama¬ 
tions, and were ready to receive and acknowledge him 
as their accredited King. There was, however, an un¬ 
der current; the priests and pharisees were vexed at his 
popularity; and, among themselves, freely vented their 
spleen; with envious eyes they looked upon the strange 
scene; saw in the popularity of the new teacher their own 
authority weakened and impaired. What evil thoughts 
tumultuously arise trom that seething cauldron the hu¬ 
man heart! They were ready to gnash on him with their 
teeth; and, if they had dared, would have brought him 
before the Sanhedrin, and, at once have condemned him 
to death for heretical doctrine; for impious blasphemy. 
But the multitude were completely carried away by the 

* * * V 


CHRIST IN JERUSALEM. 


17*9 


charm of his manner, the beauty of his discourse, by the 
miracles which he performed,—and the chief priests and 
Pharisees did not dare to lay upon him violent hands. 
Friends—dear friends—gathered around him ; friends 
whose hearts perhaps, by the mission of John the Baptist, 
had been previously prepared to receive him; and to ac¬ 
knowledge him as the Christ. One family, in particular, 
received him to their hearts and home; that of Lazarus, 
and his sisters Martha and Mary; and thus, in all pro¬ 
bability, at this early stage of his ministry, did Jesus 
find his way to the town of Bethany. Here was a con¬ 
genial home; here were congenial hearts; and, we may 
readily suppose, as evening drew on, and the gates of the 
city and temple were about to be closed for the night, 
Jesus, with his disciples, withdrew with these dear friends 
to their home in the country, discoursing with them as 
they walked along. Then when early morning came, he 
returned to the city, skirting the mount of Olivet, mid 
entering by the eastern gateway, directly opposite the 
splendid facade of the temple. The newly risen sun 
spread its rays abroad, and lighted up the glittering 
spectacle of the temple front, sheeted with silver.' The 
silver trump was blown ; the people gathered to the 
morning sacrifice; the incense arose in a thick cl oud: 
the sound of musical instruments were heard. The 
voices of the singers rang forth—and then the people 
were ready for the works and words of Jesus. 







180 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER II. 

JESUS IN THE TEMPLE. 

“ Thus saith the Lord the King of Israci, and his Redeemer the Lord of 
Hosts; I am the first, and I am the last, and besides me there is no God.” 
Isa. xliv 0. 

Never were words grander or greater uttered, than 
those by Nathaniel, when he said of Jesus, “ Rabbi, thou 
art the Son of God ; thou art the King of Israel.” These 
words must serve as a clue to Jesus in the temple; the 
eye of Jesus saw Nathaniel under a fig tree; and Na¬ 
thaniel was fully convinced from that fact of the omnisci- 
*/ 

cnee of Jesus—so that he was led on the spot, and from 
that one single circumstance, to acknowledge Him to be 
“the Lord the King of Israel, and his redeemer the Lord 
of Hosts.” Nathaniel knew himself to be in the presence 
of the Lord of the whole earth. So the scene in the 
temple must serve the same purpose. 

Christ had manifested his omniscience to Nathaniel 
on the ban s of the Jordan; he is about, on a larger 
scale, in the presence of an immense and wondering mul¬ 
titude, awe-struck at the strange spectacle, to manifest 
his great power; to show the might of his arm. The 
priests, the Levites, the porters, and all interested in the 
present order of things, were here by hundreds; the 
highest court known in the nation,—the Sanhedrin,— 


JESUS IN TIIE TEMPLE. 


181 


was one with the priests; its authority sanctioned their 
proceedings. The eye had become accustomed to the 
improper use to which the temple had been put; custom, 
with the sanction of the priests, seemed to have made it 
right. There were no protests made against the profane 
use of the temple; no voice of priest or teacher seems 
to have been loudly raised against it. Buyers and sel¬ 
lers were alike agreed on this point. The multitude 
looked on in silence ; and availed themselves of the ad¬ 
vantages, in a sec ul a r sense, which were offered. All 
went on gay and pleasant; and God was not taken into 
account. The voice of traffic was heard, on every side 
in the great outer court; and this surely was not in con¬ 
sonance with the sacredness and solemnity of religious 
service. In entering tffie courts of the Lord's house, 
the thoughts should correspond to the occasion, and no¬ 
thing should be allowed to mar the scene. Is any thing 
less than this worthy of God? of the Lord, the King of 
kings, and Lord of lords. Whereas all that was trans¬ 
piring in the outer court generated a worldly spiiit, 
and a pious heart could scarcely fail to he grieved by 
what w T as going on. Then—wdiat must the stranger 
think, as he looked on, and remembered that this house 
w r as strictly dedicated to the worship of the one living and 
true God? would he see much difference between the 
worship of this temple and that of his own? 

How seriously would this weaken the great and sub¬ 
lime and ever-living truth of one God, existing from 
eternity, self-existent, supreme, and of whose kingdom 
there shall be no end. In one spot on earth one ever- 
living God stood forth outwardly confessed, yet was 




182 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


his house so desecrated that little or no difference was 
observed between it and temples dedicated to the gods 
of the heathen. Was this the way to let the light shine 
to the ends of the earth—and to fill the world with the 
knowledge and glory of the Lord? When would this be 
accomplished at this rate? When would the heathen 
turn to the Lord at this rate? If the fountain be de¬ 
filed at its source—what of the streams? The pur¬ 
gation of the temple, therefore, was part of God’s great 
plan to fulfil the word which he spake to his servant 
Moses;—“But as truly as I live, all the earth shall be 
filled with the glory of the Lord.” * 

In the scene in the temple, therefore, we must keep in 
view the time when God shall arise to fulfil his word, 
spoken to Moses; and to fill the earth with his glory. 

And now behold Christ in the plenitude of his power. 
Behold him as indeed, according to the confession of 
Nathaniel, the “King of Israel.” He is alone. But the 
other day he was a stranger in the land ; unknown, unac¬ 
knowledged. To-day his name is a name of power. II e 
sweeps through the magnificent court, surrounded on all 
sides by its splendid porticos, as a king followed by his 
train—all arrayed in imposing vesture, with swords 
drawn, and seated on prancing steeds. The people 
fall back before him; the priesthood is powerless; pale, 
trembling, they shrink back in affright. What can they 
do? They can no more resist the might of this single 
arm, than they are able to stay the waves of the sea. 
There is irresistible force in that single uplifted arm. 


* Numbers xiv. 20. 



JESUS IN THE TEMPLE. 


183 


Should not this be so when we recollect that Jesus 
is Christ the Lord; the “King of Israel.” This is He 
who spake and it was done ; who commanded and it stood 
fast. This is He who created the sea by his word; and 
formed the earth out of nothing;. Of all that immense 
concourse of people, from the high priest downward, to 
the lowest official engaged in the service of the temple, 
from the captain of the guard to the meanest soldier,— 
no one had power to move a step: to interpose the slight¬ 
est obstacle. Those whose interest it was to guard their 
oxen and sheep, were glad to escape with their cattle; 
not that they were so much hurt by the scourge which 
Jesus the Christ used on this occasion—as that the 
scourge was a fitting symbol of his power, as is a scep¬ 
tre in the hands of a powerful monarch. It mostly be¬ 
tokened the authority of Him with whom they had to do. . 
How soon were the courts deserted of those who were 
engaged in a traffic, perfectly right in itself, but which 
was most unsanctimoniously carried on in the courts of 
the Lord’s house. Did not the people say, “ Surely the 
Lord of the temple is here.” As the heavy gust, as the 
sweeping cloud, as the loud, distant thunder, betoken 
the approaching tempest,—so the power of Jesus show¬ 
ed itself on this dread occasion,—foreshowing a great¬ 
er display of wrath to come. We lose, in part, the 
meaning of the significant spectacle, if we do not* con¬ 
nect with it that yet more awful day when God shall 
arise to judge the earth,—preparatory to its purgation 
—its future renovation—when all will be made new; 
and the will of God shall be done on earth even as it is 
done in heaven. Glorious day! Blessed prospect! The 


184 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


theme that inspired the pen of all the holy prophets 
since the world began. 

The people were entirely carried away by this display 
of the power of Jesus; and for the time, his enemies 
were silenced, confounded. All were ready to acknow¬ 
ledge (but not with the deep inward conviction of a Na¬ 
thaniel) that Jesus was truly the “King of Israel.” 
Their convictions were superficial; it was but a tempora¬ 
ry gust which moved them; they did not know, as Na¬ 
thaniel did, that Jesus was really and truly God. They 
regarded Christ as God’s agent or prophet; they did not 
know that Jesus was God himself; the very and eternal 
God. They would have made him king at once, but king 
or potentate after an earthly sort; overlooking or not 
understanding that the foundation of his kingdom was 
to be laid in his sufferings, death, and resurrection. 
The veil was on their eyes. How the people crowded 
around. How they clamored for him to be their king. 
The star of John the Baptist, his forerunner, paled be¬ 
fore the rising star of Jesus. A new sun had appeared 
in the heavens; and all eyes were fixed. The whole 
city was moved to its very depths. The testimony of 
John the Baptist strengthened the general impres¬ 
sion; for all knew, from his testimony, that John had, 
in the presence of assembled Israel, on the banks of the 
Jordan, declared Jesus to be the Christ. They remem¬ 
bered, also, the sign from heaven, which John the Bap¬ 
tist had received, to assure him that there was no mis¬ 
take this time in the person of the Messiah : for the heav¬ 
ens were opened—and the Holy Ghost descended upon 
him in the shape of a dove ; and a voice was heard saying, 


THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 


185 


“This is my beloved son in whom I am' well pleased.” 
All this the people remembered; and the mighty, su¬ 
perhuman power which Jesus had just displayed, cor¬ 
roborated, in the strongest manner, the unequivocal tes- 
timony oi his forerunner. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 

“ And the Lord shall be King over all the earth.” Zech. xlv. 9. 

What greater word could John the Baptist speak, or 
even Christ himself, than when Christ and his forerun- 
runner, his herald, both with one voice said, “ Repent 
ye ; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand or, as it is 
expressed by Christ, in the course of his conversation 
with Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews, a member of the 
council of the Sanhedrin, “the Kingdom of God.” King¬ 
dom of heaven is synonymous with the kingdom of 
God; the two phrases express one and the same thing. 
They embody in one general declaration the sum of in¬ 
spired testimony in regard to the future of our earth. 
They remove the vail of night, they lift up as a curtain 
is lifted up, the darkness of time. They unfold in 
bright perspective, a series of ages when no tears will 
dim the eye; when fear will not blanch the cheek; 



186 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


when dejection and guilt will no more weaken and af¬ 
flict the heart. The words are full of gracious augury; 
a golden thread is unrolled which will run through 
many an age, and the remembrance of pain, sickness, 
and death, will have passed away. 

When the words were first spoken, breaking upon the 
dull ear of time, the knell of death was rung out, and 
the grave appalled began to give up itg victims. In his 
dark prison house the monster death heard the clarion 
sound, and shrank affrighted from the far-resounding 
words. Earth felt the touch of a new life ; its sod grew 
softer; its sky more balmy; the sea assumed the quiet 
of the moorland lake; and shock of storm, and ravage 
of tempest were heard no more. The eye Sparkled with 
a living light, a light that was to grow dim no more; 
no more would it sink in darkness, or even close its 
weary lids. The step, as it walked over the plain of in>* 
mortality, would be lighter than that of the fawn. 

By the phrase, “the Kingdom of God,” in its grand 
and comprehensive sense, is to be understood neither 
more nor less than what Daniel expressed when he 
said, “ and in the days of these kings shall the God of 
heaven set up a Kingdom which shall not be destroyed : 
and the Kingdom shall not be left to other people, but 
it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, 
and it shall stand forever.” * 

Reference is further made to the kingdom by Daniel 
in the following words : “But the saints of the Most 


♦Dan. ii. 44. 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 


187 


High shall take the kingdom, and possess the king¬ 
dom forever, even forever and ever.” * 

Ihe grandeur, greatness, and universality of this 
kingdom is yet further expressed in the following 
words: “And the kingdom and dominion, and the 
gieatness of the kingdom under the whole earth, shall 
be given to the people of the saints of the Most High, 
whose kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and all do¬ 
minions shall serve and obey him.” f 

This kingdom is illustrated by the reference that is 
made in the eighty-ninth Psalm, to “ great David’s 
greater Son.” Here rises, as if from the sea, a new 
power, a potentate differing in many respects from what 
this sad earth has yet seen. The stream, when traced 
to its source, begins with the promise made by God to 
Abraham, that “ in his seed should all the nations of the 
earth be blessed.’ 1 We must go back to this promise ; 
we must follow it in its course, as we would a winding, 
rapid stream, until the river empties itself, at its mouth, 
into the sea. The whole is built on the word of God ; 
that word on which the foundations of the earth stand. 
God has chosen for the head of this universal empire, 
the Son of David; the seed of Abraham cannot be de¬ 
parted from; this is the ordinance of God ; and the 
glory that is to circle the whole earth must come from 
this source. Not clearer is the path of the sun marked 
out in the heavens than is this. 

Once have I sworn by myself that I will not lie un- 


*Dan. vii. 18. 


fDan. vii. 27. 


t Gen. xxii. 18. 




188 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


to David. His seed shall endure forever, and his throne 
as the sun before me. It shall be established forever 
as the moon, and as a faithful witness in heaven.” " 

But from the language that is used, a greater king 
than king David is meant; the Son of David will far 
eclipse David himself. Hear the words : 

“ I have found David my servant; with my holy oil 
have I anointed him: with whom my hand shall be es¬ 
tablished : mine arm also shall strengthen him. The 
enemy shall not exact upon him; nor the son of wick¬ 
edness afflict him. And I will beat down his foes be¬ 
fore his face, and plague them that hate him. But my 
faithfulness and my mercy shall be with him: and in 
my name shall his horn be exalted. I will set his hand 
also in the sea, and his right hand in the rivers. He 
shall say unto me,—Thou art my Father, my God, and 
the Rock of my salvation. Also I will make him my 
firstborn, higher than the kings of the earth. My 
mercy will I keep for him forevermore, and my covenant 
shall stand fast with him. His seed also will I make 
to endure forever, and his throne as the days of hea¬ 
ven.” t 

Here is language before which the first glory of Is¬ 
rael pales; and the mind is led to look to a more glori¬ 
ous future,—but still in connection with God’s ancient 
chosen people, the Jews. They are his chosen race; 
his appointed instrumentality to deluge the world With 
blessings; while as a people, through the Messiah, the 


* Psalms bauds. 35, 30, 37. 


t Ibid. vor. 20-29. 






THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 


189 


“ Son of David,” they will be raised to an eminence be¬ 
yond that which they had attained in the past. 

When Jesus, and his forerunner John the Baptist, 
said, “ The kingdom of God is at hand,” it was the fu¬ 
ture visible kingdom of the house of Israel that was 
meant; with its capital Jerusalem, restored to more 
than its pristine grandeur, seated on its holy hill. The 
kingdom of Israel to be re-established in the future, in 
the midst of unparalleled prosperity, exercising a world¬ 
wide influence, and built on an enduring basis,—this is 
what we should understand by the magic words “ The 
kingdom of God.” This is the fixed, definite idea, to be 
kept always in view; as a light to guard through the 
dark scene of time; and as a solution to the social con¬ 
dition of man, and perplexed policy of nations. One na¬ 
tion established on a right basis will mould the rest; 
and the kingdoms of this world, following in the wake of 
the kingdom of Israel, will submit to the righteous scep¬ 
tre of Christ 


190 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 




CHAPTER IV. 

CHRIST IN GALILEE. 

The far greater proportion of the public ministry of 
Christ was spent in Galilee; among its mountains, lakes, 
valleys, and plains ; among its cities, towns, and villages. 
It is a lktle curious we have no record of our Saviour 
visit’ng Sepphoris, the capital of Galilee, or, even the 
new city Tiberias, built on the shores of the lake. The 
character of Herod Antipas, in the Gospel record, looms 
up darkly before the mind of the reader; and receives 
no relief from the words of Christ—nothing noble, or 
manly is said of him; his father Herod the Great, with 
all his faults, had some shining qualities ; but the son 
had none. Even his partial adherence to John the Bap¬ 
tist, seems to have been dictated chiefly by a servile 
spirit; by slavish fear, rather than by a real love of the 
truth, or from profound conviction. He was perhaps more 
alarmed than convicted by the preaching of John the Bap¬ 
tist. Truth had made no deep lodgment in his heart; self¬ 
ishness and a little mind, capable of mean prevarication, 
were the chief characteristics of the man; he compared 
poorly in these respects with his wife’s (Herodias) bro¬ 
ther, the first Agrippa, of whom we have already spoken 
somewhat in this present work.—Jesus, therefore, avoid¬ 
ing the two chief cities, Sepphoris and Tiberias, traversed 
with unwearied steps, every other part of Galilee. When 




JURIST IN GALILEE. 


191 


the annual feasts came round,—especially that of the 
Passover,—he would leave his sequestered retreat—the 
bosom of these green hills, the fertile vales, the smiling 
fields, and with his chosen disciples wend his way unto 
Jerusalem. On foot he walked; the burning sun, the 
summers heat, and even the winter’s cold, (as for in¬ 
stance wdien he went up to the dedication) did not de¬ 
tain him from these feasts. When they were over he 
gladly returned to Galilee. The situation of Galilee, 
surrounded by the Gentiles, gave him the opportunity of 
preaching the Gospel to the surrounding nations; to the 
people that flocked not only from Decapolis, Gerasa, and 
Philadelphia, but also from Tyre, Sidon, and other cities 
of Phenicia. Beside, Jesus was less molested in Galilee 
than in Judea; especially from the opposition of the 
scribes and Pharisees. He was not, during his absence, 
and long stay in Galilee, brought into so close contact 
with the highest judicatory of the nation, the Sanhe¬ 
drin; and consequently less exposed to its arraignment. 
This tribunal was still in its power; and such as it con¬ 
demned to death, the Roman governor did not often in¬ 
terpose to stay proceedings. It was but little shorn of 
its high executive authority in the time of Christ and 
sometime afterward. Especially offences against the 
Jewish law were left to its exclusive jurisdiction ; the 
Romans did not interfere in nice points of this nature; 
and the council may be said to have been left for the 
most part untrammeled when a violation of the law of 
Moses was made the ground of indictment. 

In Galilee, then, was seen, for the most part,—shining 
in the darkness—dispelling from the human mind, igno- 




192 HEROD ANTIPAS. 

ranee and error, the great light of the world. Mount 
Xlermon, on the north,—snow capped Lebanon, mount 
Carmel, overlooking the sea, received the first rays— 
the earliest beams of this new, resplendent sun; down 
their hoary sides the light streamed, till it bathed both 
valley and plain lying at their huge base. Now it dan¬ 
ced over waving fields of grain in the rich plains of 
Esdraelon and Zebulon; now glittered along the surface 
of streamlet, running river, and placid lake. Over the 
hills of Galilee Jesus walked, even to the top of Safet; 
the highest point in Upper Galilee, from whence is seen 
Capernaum and the plain of Gennesareth, with the lake 
lying seemingly just below your feet. In the tetrarchy 
of the good Philip, also, Jesus walked; still within the 
wide and fertile range of Galilee. The synagogues of 
Galilee Jesus visited, as he went from city to city preach¬ 
ing the Gospel of the kingdom,—that is, pre-announcing 
his elevation, in a given time, to the throne of his father 
David. The trumpet blew a certain blast—what if the 
generation of that day should not see this, would the 
promise be made void by delay? Would the passage 
even of centuries before this word of promise should be 
literally fulfilled, weaken its force? By no means. The 
word that was spoken was a sure one; it floated over 
the waters of the lake, as music; or reverberated, as 
thunder, from the bosom of the mountains. The people 
listened and understood it as it was meant; but did not 
perceive that its exact fulfilment belonged to a future 
and distant day. But their hearts were revived; and 
Jesus, throughout Galilee, was received and hailed as 
the IGng of the Jews. 


FAITH. 


193 


CHAPTER Y. 

'i 

FAITH. 

It is not hard to conceive how at the display of power 
by Jesus in the temple, as he swept it of all that was 
unclean and offensive; of all that was contrary to the 
sacredness of the holy place, that prevented its high in¬ 
tent, and made it emphatically a house of prayer for 
all nations, irrespective of creed or race; a certain awe 
—for the time—fell on the people, and upon the whole 
city. As night threw its mantle over the city, and the 
gates of the temple were closed, and the night guard of 
the temple was set, and the wood on the altar renewed, 
while the flame blazed bright, steady and clear,—and 
the priests took their rounds in the various courts, keep¬ 
ing guard over their spotless sanctity; the people, re¬ 
tired to their homes—discoursed of the great event of 
that day; admiring the heroism of Christ; his zeal for 
the law of Moses; and the powerlessness of his oppo¬ 
nents. A superhuman power rested upon him. No chief¬ 
tain in battle, pursuing his foes, triumphing over gi¬ 
gantic odds, ever gained admiration so sincere, so strong. 
There was nothing in it of human adulation. The people 
were carried away by the majesty of his presence, as well 
as by the power of his single, uplifted arm. They felt 
that God was here ; that a power more than human gave 


194 


HKROD AK TIP AS. 


strength to that unaided man. None were slain; there 
were no mangled limbs—no bruised and bleeding bodies 
—but still all felt—perhaps for the time even the priests 
of the people, that the Lion of the tribe of Judah had risen 
up in his strength. Alone, in the arena, he stood; there 
was no one to oppose; his triumph was complete. Need 
we wonder that a certain holy awe fell upon the city; 
that solemn silence prevailed; that the stars looked 
down from their high abode, as if mute witnesses of the 
majestic scene. 

Each heart throbbed with deepest emotion and gave 
back but one spontaneous response, “ Lo, God,—the 
great God,—he who built the earth and skies,—who 
made man,—is in our very midst ?” Deep awe—deep 
silence rested on the city full. People spake in low 
tones; they rather whispered to each other, than spoke 
aloud. Even in their houses they breathed forth rather 
than uttered, what they said. Some were joyful; some 
were sad. Those who were burdened with crimes,—who 
had oppressed the hireling in the gate,—who had rob¬ 
bed the poor of their just wages,—or the widow of her 
scanty pittance,—the murderer, the adulterer, the mask¬ 
ed hypocrite—these and all liars—all guilty of any con¬ 
cealed villany or crime, trembled at the sound of that 
footstep treading the courts of the Lord’s house, as if 
with the shock of an earthquake, causing even the solid 
foundations of the temple to tremble. Such were sorely 
affrighted: but the righteous were glad. They sang for 
joy; they hailed, with loud acclaim, the coming of the 
Prince of Peace. How their hearts beat for joy! How 
joyful was the sound of their voices, even if they did 





FAITH. 


195 


speak in a low tom awed into silence by such a Pres¬ 
ence. 

Far and near spread the word ; while the multitude 
of representatives from Galilee, who had as usual attend¬ 
ed the late annual great festival at Jerusalem, carried 
back the amazing account through all that region. Je¬ 
sus, not returning to Galilee immediately after the feast, 
and when he did set out to return,—moving slowly,—the 
news preceded him; and all both of Upper and Lower 
Galilee was alive with it, at the time of his arrival. So 
when he returned to these parts it was as a conqueror ; 
and now too he was fully prepared to manifest the glory 
which he had with the Father from before the foundation 
of' the world. The sun had risen in full splendor; his 
light was no longer veiled ; clouds, mist, thick and heavy 
vapor, and dark night, were gone, and Galilee, should 
now witness without stint, innumerable Godlike acts, 
similar to those that the holy city had witnessed. All 
hearts were warmed as by the reviving breath of spring. 

Almost at his entrance upon the threshold of Galilee 
(having perhaps first visited Nazareth) he had an op¬ 
portunity of displaying his almighty power. He who 
does not see this, does not see God in anything; for it 
is a vain attempt to strive to separate the Godlike acts 
of Jesus from his eternal Godhead. A King is here ; 
ore who acts in his owu right; who gives no account 
of himself or of his doings to another. Yea, the verv 
God is here; he who is above all is here; the sole, un¬ 
originated, everlasting Lord; yea, even the Ancient of 
Days, though unattended by shining ranks of angels. 
The marshalled hosts are in the sky, but they are not 


196 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


seen ; still they attend on his march, and perch on his 
banner. He is not alone; though he seems to be alone 
and unattended. Never had earthly monarch so royal 
an attendance; and as for the number of these invisible 
ministering spirits, they are countless—even as the 
stars in the sky, and the sands on the seashore. 

Once more Jesus was in Cana of Galilee, where he 
had turned the water into wine. He tarried here awhile 
before he proceeded to Capernaum ; and now was per¬ 
formed his second miracle in this place. A ruler of the 
Jews, a member of the inferior council of twenty-three, 
(of which there was one in every city, beside that for 
the whole nation, which consisted of seventy-two per¬ 
sons, whose sittings were held at Jerusalem*) came from 
Capernaum to Cana, to intercede on behalf of his son, 
who was lying at the point of death. If by the sickness 
of his son he had been prevented from attending the 
festival at Jerusalem, the fame of the wonderful works 
of Jesus had reached his ears. He himself may have 
heard the testimony of John the Baptist concerning Je¬ 
sus ; had probably been baptized by John in the Jordan, 
confessing his sins. What John had testified had been 
corroborated by w T hat he had either heard or seen of 
of Jesus at Jerusalem. By whatever means the convic¬ 
tion had been produced, this man, a ruler of the Jews, 
like Nicodemus, though belonging to an inferior Sanhe¬ 
drin, was fully satisfied that Jesus was the Messiah. 
This was the all-important point; he did not doubt for 
a moment but that this was so. His faith was strong 

O 


* Prid. Con. vol. ii. p. 224, note. 



FAITH. 


197 


perfect unwavering. He had the fullest confidence 
that Jesus could save his son: and he did not doubt his 
willingness to do so. He was a person of the most 
transparent character, and of the most extreme sincer¬ 
ity. He was a man of deep humility; and had a loving 
heart. As Jacob loved Joseph and Benjamin, so he 
loved his son. He did not wait till he came to Caperna¬ 
um ; but with a heart wildly throbbing, hearing that 
Jesus had returned to Galilee, and tarried at Cana, he 
came to that place. How strong indeed was his faith! 
It was steadfast. It was perfect. It was faith in 
Jesus as the Jewish Messiah, (grounded on testimony) 
and consequently as the Son of God. When it was 
tested by the interrogatory of Jesus, (or what amounted 
to this) “Will you believe in the absence of some won¬ 
derful s-ign, performed before your eyes ?” he did not 
hesitate, but said he wanted no such sign. His faith 
was grounded deeply in his own heart; he wished no ad¬ 
ditional evidence to satisfy him that Jesus was the Mes¬ 
siah. This was enough ; and his son was healed in 
that selfsame hour.'* The healing virtue of the omnipo¬ 
tent word was instantaneously felt, as he learned by 
comparing accounts with his servants the next day. 
Here was no room for contrivance or catch-play. The 
parties were widely separated ; they were, until then, in 
all probability, unknown to each other; and the father 
had come on his mission alone. 

How, in a case like this, there is no great mystery in 
the faith in Jesus, nor in its result. The case was plain. 

1 1 r . . . .. ' - - 


* John lv. ver. fiS. 



198 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


It was a full conviction that Jesus was the Christ, the 
Anointed One of God, and as such was in our world to 
do wonderful works. 

The ground, also, on which this faith rested was plain. 
It was the testimony of John the Baptist, his forerunner, 
corroborated, substantiated, in the most unequivocal 
manner, by the works of Christ himself; works confess 
edly beyond human power. 

This is the key to every miracle of Christ in the New 
Testament; and when, to a very considerable extent 
you have given the rationale in one case, you have given 
it in every case. There 'is really no mystery in what 
otherwise appears so deep, so wonderful; it is simply 
believing the testimony that God has given concerning 
his Son. This is the sum of the whole matter. To at¬ 
tempt to explain the miracles of Christ on any human 
hypothesis, is to turn the whole into a farce. 

You see precisely the same faith in the centurion, the 
Homan captain. As a class these men were very cruel ,* 
according to the discipline of the army they “ were au¬ 
thorized to chastise with blows.” * They made free use 
of this right; and were often the objects of the most 
deadly hostility on the part of the soldiers. The cen¬ 
turion referred to was of a different stamp; he had been 
taught in a higher school. First of all he was a believer 
in the Jewish religion; he ha,d become a convert to the 
great truth of one God, and had renounced polytheism, 
or the worship of the numerous gods of the Greeks and 
Homans. He had gone further than this. He had been 


* Gibbon’s Rome, vol. i. p. 7 . 





FAITH. 


199 


a diligent student of the Jewish Scriptures; and had 
found that their chief design was to testify of Jesus. 

This gave them, to his mind, their chief charm; this 
invested them with an attraction and interest beyond 
that of anything else. He saw here a great King an¬ 
nounced ; a conqueror—but in a new guise. He was to 
conquer sin, death, and the grave ; he would open up a 
new era in the history of man. He was to proceed 
from the Jews; to be a descendant of the tribe of Je- 
dah, and of the house of David. He should ascend the 
throne of David, and establish a universal empire. One 
of his titles was that of the Prince of Peace; and it 
was his great work to introduce a reign of peace in the 
earth. The centurion saw hope for our world through 
this source, but through none other. The reason of this 
was because God said so; said it in his holy word. This 
written, ancient, inspired, well-authenticated word, he 
fully believed, and he rested the glorious future of our 
earth, and of his own steadfast hope on the written 
word. The storm of centuries had beat on this word; 
it had been assailed in every imaginable form—but it 
still stood—like a rock, rearing its worn and gray head 
high above the fury of the rampant waves. He clasped 
the well-worn book to his heart; he read it in his tent; 
he carried it with him into battle. It was to him a source 
of sublime hope, and as a trump calling the dead from 
their graves, and bidding them live again. 

But now he saw something more. He saw in Jesus 
of Nazareth, the son of Joseph, the person foretold and 
described in the ancient Jewish Scriptures. He had 
heard also, probably, the testimony of John the Baptist, 

v v*-.- 


t 


200 HEROD ANTIPAS. 

and may have witnessed the scene where John pointed 
out Jesus as the Lamb of God to the deputation of 
priests and scribes from Jerusalem. The centurion, at 
the late feast, may have been one of those who wit¬ 
nessed the grand scene, in the temple, when all felt a 
power which they could not withstand or resist. He had 
also heard the fame of his mighty works, and if he was 
at the feast he had beheld them with his own eyes. At 
all events, his faith that Jesus was the Messiah was 
perfect, and he doubted not that he could do whatsoev¬ 
er he pleased. 

It was in this spirit that he approached him in behalf 
of his sick servant. Need we be surprised at the result 
which followed? Why should Jesus come to his house ? 
His word was omnipotent; he had all power in heaven 
and in earth ; he had but to speak the word and the 
work was done ; the faithful servant whom he loved 
would be cured. He knew this ; he was perfectly per¬ 
suaded of it in his own heart. This gives such natural¬ 
ness to the whole transaction. It has all the air of a 
picture painted from reality; it is a scene of real life. 
There is no straining after effect; and as for the narra¬ 
tive itself, it is told in as few words as possible. The 
key to the whole scene is the great faith of the centur¬ 
ion in Jesus as the Jewish Messiah. Like Nathaniel, 
he recognised in Jesus “ the Son of God, the King of 
Israel.” What then could he not accomplish ? What 
■was there that he could not do ? The reason why our 
faith is so weak is that we often unconsciously to our¬ 
selves, separate the Son from the Father, and without 
meaning to do so, ma,k$ them two distinct persons; 


t 


FAITH. 


201 


whereas they are one and the same. He is u the ever¬ 
lasting Father,” “ the mighty God u of his years there 
shall be no end.”* 

This is the secret of faith in Christ; and which 
makes it omnipotent. This arms even man with the 
power of God, and enables him with a Moses or a 
Joshua, to do wonders in our earth. The manifestation 
of God in the flesh was known to prophets as well as to 
apostles. They periled their all on this sublime truth. 
This Abraham understood; so also the elders, those 
illustrious men of old, who “ through faith obtained a 
good report.” 

There is no necessity in this work why we should 
repeat the miracles of Christ. They all belong to the 
same corollary; they are designed that we should de¬ 
duce from them this conclusion, that Jesus is the Son 
of God, and that believing we “ shall have life through 
his name.” 

The miracles in themselves, are comparatively of 
small importance. “ Your fathers did eat manna in the 
wilderness and are dead.” They are designed chiefly 
to teach faith in Christ; and having answered this im¬ 
portant end, they pass away with the things that are 
not. To those that are led to believe in the name of 
Jesus as in the name of God, they answer a higher and 
nobler purpose. They bring down from heaven the life 
of God into the soul—a miracle which is repeated from 
age to age. This is a miracle presented to the perceiv¬ 
ing soul; and which is attested by a life moulded after 


* Ps. cii. 27. 




202 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


that of Christ; a life in harmony with that of Christ; a 
life in harmony with that of which he has left the living 
example. This is the end of faith—the regeneration of 
the soul. Is faith in Christ, then, a dream, a vague idea, 
floating in the mind—when its result is the transforma¬ 
tion of the character from what is bestial, vile, corrupt, 
to what is holy, simple, sweet, pure, innocent. The 
practical result of faith in Christ is worked out by 
one such living example, to an absolute demonstration. 
Suppose Tiberius Caesar to have felt its life-giving 
power, in the island of Capreae, and he would have 
presented to the world such another spectacle as that 
of Titus, son of Vespasian, who, during his brief reign, 
by his complete transformation of character, received 
and deserved the appellation of the “ darling of man¬ 
kind.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

TESUS IN CAPERNAUM. 

A fertile strip of land, two miles in width, reaching 
back to the hills, and four miles in breadth, bordering 
the shore of the lake, forms the celebrated plain of 
Gennesareth,* (so eulogised by Josephus) at the north¬ 
ern extremity of which stood Capernaum.t Near to it, 


* Dr. Olin’s Trave’s in the East, rol. ii. p. 404. 


t Ibid. 







JESUS IN CAPERNAUM. 


203 


on the same rich plain, were probably the sites of Cho- 
raj.in and Bethsaida.* Villages touched each other on 
the shore of this lake, as they did at the era of this his¬ 
tory on the bay of Naples. The whole shore, now so 
silent and desolate was then alive with cities, villages, 
towns ; and with a superabundant population. 

Capernaum, as the chief residence of Jesus after 
leaving Nazareth, must always be dear to the heart. 
We do not intend to go into a detailed record of all that 
occurred in and about this memorable place. The light 
of prophecy had shined on this spot as the home of the 
Lord of life and glory,—long before his incarnation. 
From this spot chiefly would his light shine forth ; here 
he would perform his mightiest works. Surrounded on 
all sides by heathen nations, they would hear of his 
works ; and could readily flock to his ministry. In this 
respect the locality was peculiarly adapted to the wants 
of the Gentiles ; and this, in the wisdom of God, pre¬ 
pared the way for the introduction of Christianity at an 
early date among the nations generally. This was part 
of the beneficent design of high heaven to the children 
of men. 

It was meant also to impart hope to the Jews in a 
dark hour of the.ir history, when the Assyrian should 
have carried them away captive(as we have already said) 
to the land of the Medes. The season of the desolation 
would be succeeded by the light of hope ; Galilee swept 
of its native population, would be inhabited by them 
again on their return from the land of the captivity: and 


* Dr. Olin’g Travels in the East. 





204 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


yet. more, the Messiah would irradiate it with his pre¬ 
sence. Here he would live;—Upper Galilee, Galilee of 
the nations, would be his home. Wherever he might be 
called to labor,—on his return,—this would be his home. 
Favored city!—Chosen residence of the Son of man! 
On the shore of this limpid lake he often walked ; on its 
waters he sailed; by the side of its fountain, near where 
the road turns to ascend the mountain, he often, as w~e 
may conjecture, sat down. From its fig trees he ate 
the luscious fruit, hanging on the branches, ripe ten 
months out of the twelve. On its smiling fields he gazed 
with a pleased eye. 

We may also imagine him of a soft moonlight night 
gazing on the tranquil scene, (He, the Lord of all) and 
looking forward to the time, when, after a long and 
dreary captivity of many centuries, Israel should re¬ 
gain its own once more, and anew cultivate this ancient 
plain; launch its boats on the lake once more ; and 
more than restore the former fertility of the land. That 
his eyes were intently fixed on this future day there 
can be no doubt. 

It is pleasing to think of Jesus in the house of Peter ; 
sitting at the same table with him, his wife, and wife’s 
mother. He sleeps in this house: he lies down to 
sleep- and rises up to pray—or proceeding a consider¬ 
able distance from the house ere he reached the soli¬ 
tary place—preventing the day with his cries and earn¬ 
est supplications. What formed the chief subject of 
his prayer? It is easy to guess. It was the regenera¬ 
tion of the earth; the removal of the curse; the de¬ 
thronement of Satan; the destruction of death. Was 


JESUS IN CAPERNAUM. 


205 


rot this the work which he came to do? The Son of 
David, is it not his work to restore the throne of his 
father David, and to rule over the house of Judah? 
Can we suppose for a moment that he was forgetful of 
his great work—the very business he came upon earth 
to do? Surely not. This would be the most transpa¬ 
rent inconsistency. In his' prayers, then, in the soli¬ 
tude, while even his disciples slept, we may imagine 
him thus engaged, as was also Jacob, when he wres¬ 
tled with the Angel of the Covenant, the whole night 
in the open air. The burthen of prayer was one and 
the same,—the regeneration of our earth ; removing, as 
sang the Mantuan poet, (drawing his inspiration proba¬ 
bly from the Hebrew oracles,) “the last vestiges of evil” 
from our world. 

Memorable day, when on the smooth shore of the lake 
of Galilee, he called to be “ fishers of men,” the four 
partners, Peter, John, James and Andrew, calling them 
from their nets, and their humble avocation, to lay the 
foundation of a kingdom on this earth which should not 
be moved. They were first disciples of John the Bap¬ 
tist ; next they became the disciples of Christ, as such 
accompanying him to Jerusalem, and being partly in¬ 
itiated into their future work. But now they are fully 
called ; absolutely chosen and set apart as his apostles. 
This was the high commission of these men after they 
had stood out their allotted term of probation. 

They were all fishermen; depending for support upon 
this humble calling. Their nets and boats were their 
all. Now their boats were hauled up on the shore; 
now they were launched into the sea. They were not 


206 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


large: a single draught would fill them even to sinking. 
It was while they were engaged in their calling they 
heard the voice of Jesus, and, leaving all, followed him. 
What was their chief preparation for so great a work ? 
It was simply this : they believed that Jesus was the 
Christ; the Jewish Messiah. They needed no other. 
This faith invested them with a power which nothing 
else could; and purblind is that man who seeking for 
the causes of the establishment of Christianity in our 
world, overlooks this. The history of their association 
with Christ, shows that his great object was to teach 
them who he really was. This was the sum of their 
teaching; this was the basis on which would be erected 
the most splendid superstructure the world ever saw. 
‘‘ Who do men say that I, the Son of man, am?” was 
the interrogatory frequently propounded to the disci¬ 
ples ; this was a test question. It was intended to test 
their own faith; to ascertain the progress which they 
had made in their knowledge of Christ. It was not sci¬ 
ence, or history, or philosophy, or even the theology 
of the Jewish schools which they were taught—but the 
knowledge of Jesus as the Messiah. Once taught this 
as a divine reality, and like the knights of old, arrayed 
in armor from head to foot, they were prepared to con¬ 
tend against a world in arms. This was an armory 
containing inexhaustible resources. Their success would 
turn on this single point. Without this all other advan¬ 
tages would be unavailing; with this, their deficiency of 
rhetoric, or want of polish of manner, or obscurity of 
birth or condition, would be but little felt. The chief 
point was to know and to be assured that Jesus was 


JESUS IN CAPERNAUM. 


207 


the Messiah. So far as books were concerned, this 
knowledge could be found only in the Jewish Scriptures. 
No other book contained it; this made that book su¬ 
perior to, and unlike all others. The works of Greek 
and of Roman authors had nothing in them of this ; 
there was hardly an allusion to this great theme. But 
it was. the sum of the Jewish Scriptures. In this mine 
the disciples delved, instructed by their Master; the 
deeper they went, the purer became the gold ; and 
they drew from this source daily this truth, with con¬ 
stant augmentations, Jesus is the Messiah—they threw 
their whole soul into this deep truth. Especially was 
this true of Simon Peter, whose wonderful faith, as we 
have seen, gave him his surname. 

The testimony of the sacred writings from beginning 
to end, the testimony of John the Baptist, and yet far¬ 
ther, when given, the testimony of the Holy Ghost,— 
with the works of Jesus, and his own unqualified affirm¬ 
ation, all combined to imprint on the minds and hearts 
of the disciples of Jesus the truth that Jesus was the 
Christ, and as such the Saviour and regenerator of the 
world. This was the ark of the testimony to the chosen 
apostles of Christ; in this name they went out conquer¬ 
ing and to conquer. As the ark of old was carried 
about the walls of Jericho,—itself, from the word which 
it contained, the source and center of strength,—and 
caused the walls of the city to fall down,—so the name 
of “Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph,” was the tow¬ 
er of strength to his chosen apostles. This was that 
mysterious power, which, first felt in Judea, took the 
circuit of the Roman world, and in spite of philosophy 


208 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


and superstition, planted the banner of Christ every 
where ; and overturned in its triumphant march the al¬ 
tars alike of Greece, of Italy, and, in part, of Asia 
and Africa. Home, Cyrene, Athens, Antioch, all felt 
and acknowledged the name of Jesus. The power that 
accomplished this was in this name; the name of the 
holy child, Jesus ; and this was the preparation of the 
apostles for their great work, the full and undoubting 
assurance that Jesus was the Christ. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SABBATH IN CAPERNAUM. 

We regret to leave Capernaum. We linger around 
its shores, its waters. On those waves walked, time and 
again, the Son of Man. In a boat, a little distance from 
the land, he preached to multitudes lining the silent 
shore, and listening attentively to the words that fell 
from his lips. They were the words of One who had 
come from that mysterious world, into which we s/rive 
vainly to look. The vail had parted; he had drawn it 
aside; he had appeared. Here he is in our midst; one 
who has come from that invisible world. He speaks to 
us; we hear his voice; we see his face—a face radiant 
with goodness. He moves among us on this earth, like 



A SABBATH IN CAPERNAUM. 


209 


one of ourselves ; he is tender and compassionate—to 
none more so than to the “ lost sheep of the house of 
Israel.” 

To the erring how tender. Oh, how he loVed! How 
sweet his speech! He would reclaim the wandering by 
love ; he would win a lost world back to his arms ; he 
would fold all to his bosom. That eye of tender solici¬ 
tude ! It awakened hope—it did not fill with despair. 

Oh, God! hast thou indeed descended from heaven 
into our midst to teach us how to love one another; to 
be kind and compassionate ; true and sincere; to watch 
over one another for good. There is no shibboleth in 
his speech: he doth not wrangle about words, or intro¬ 
duce questions of strife. His creed is not narrow ; it is 
universal love. It is as wide as humanity; it follows a 
sigh in its wide sweep over the earth; it sheds tear for 
tear with the unfortunate. This is the Saviour we 
adore. Bonds and stripes and imprisonments are not 
his weapons to reclaim men from error; but love, pure 
love, to and for the erring. 

A single day we will describe, and then leave the 
pleasing theme. 

The Sabbath had dawned: Jesus was in Capernaum; 
it was in the commencement of his ministry. He was 
in the house, probably, of Simon Peter; the preceding 
night he had slept under his roof. The waters of the 
lake gently laved the shore near the house of the fish¬ 
erman of Galilee. Early in the morning how soft the 
scene; a morning unbroken by sounds of labor; all is 
still. The sun has not yet risen ; or his beams do but 
gild the tops of the highest mountains. The boats are 


210 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


all moored along the shore ; scarce a ripple moves the 
glassy wave. There is a very gentle breath of air astir ; 
the perfume of flowers—the early flowers of the season, 
—scents the fresh morning air. The song of birds is 
heard; the blithe carol that ushers in the new-born day. 
The wind is fresher as it comes over the water. All 
is peace and quietude. 

How clear and fair the morning is. A solitary stran¬ 
ger stands on the silent shore; he looks abroad on the 
scene. All is so serene and beautiful, it would seem as 
if sorrow might not be there. The stranger that stands 
on the shore of the lake is here to banish sorrow; to 
bind up the wounded heart; to rebuke disease and 
pain ; to bring back to our earth, in due time, the bliss 
of Eden. Is he reminded of the day, when, the work of 
creation done, angels sang their paeans through the sky, 
ere sin had struck deep its cruel fangs into the earth ? 
His eye stretches forward to the time when the soil, pu¬ 
rified by fire, shall be restored to its virgin purity; 
when not a tear shall moisten the eye. We must sup¬ 
pose that such thoughts arise in his mind; and that he 
rejoices, amid so peaceful a scene, in the certain ac¬ 
complishment of the work he came into our world to do. 
These reviving hopes mingle with his griefs, and relieve 
the pain which he suffers from the contemplation of the 
dark cloud which covers the earth ; and the innumera¬ 
ble ills of life. He is about to mitigate ill; to diminish 
its measure ; but not yet wholly to remove it from our 
earth. That time is not yet come; though light is 
already beginning to break forth. Hark shadows must 
still chase each other across the plain of time. 


A SABBATH IN CAPERNAUM. 


211 


At the usual hour, in company with John and An¬ 
drew, and James and Simon Peter, Jesus entered the 
synagogue. We may easily suppose that all eyes were 
fastened upon him; that his entrance sent a sensation 
all through the congregation. What took place in the 
synagogue greatly heightened the interest, and filled 
all minds with wonder. There was a man in the con¬ 
gregation possessed with an unclean spirit. This was 
an actual possession. An unclean spirit from the king¬ 
dom of darkness had entered this man. It may have 
taken place that very morning, in the course of the 
services. The mode of entrance, the manner of demo¬ 
niacal possession, is beyond investigation. We know 
but little indeed of our own spirit; what part of the 
body it inhabits ; how it superinduces action. In the 
case before us, we must be governed by the langnage 
which is used; we have no right to fritter it away 
or make it read to suit our own notions. Language is 
made to express explicit ideas; this is its office in the 
Bible, as elsewhere. To torture words, to put them on 
the rack, and by the stretch of our ingenuity to compel 
them to express just the meaning we want, is surely 
not the way to arrive at God’s truth. In this way you 
can make words mean just what you please; and you 
can wrest the Scriptures to your own mystification and 
that of others. If you remove evil spirits out the Bible, 
you may good spirits also. This system of interpreta¬ 
tion, this way of construing language, would involve 
the negation of Satan. What then would become of 
the kingdom of darkness, and its overthrow by Christ, 
•which is one of the principal ends of his mission into 


212 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


mission into our world. No. We must take the record 
as it reads. Should we not do so we derogate from 
Christ—whose power exerted in the dispossession of 
the unclean spirit, filled the minds of those who saw 
it with the most perfect astonishment. It was not the 
man himself who spoke, hut the unclean spirit that 
had entered into the man. He knew Christ to be the 
Jewish Messiah; a knowledge which from the tempta¬ 
tion in the wilderness we know Satan possessed. What 
he knew on this point, his followers knew ; for all were 
combined against Christ. Invisible agencies and powers 
pervade the whole of the sacred record ; not fanciful, 
like those of Homer, but real; being armed with an 
invincible hostility to God and to his righteous govern¬ 
ment. 

The unclean spirit addresses Jesus with a malignancy 
which betrays his origin. His acknowledgment of Jesus 
as the Christ is a forced acknowledgment. He does not 
sue for mercy, though he deprecates his wrath. He 
knows Jesus to be all powerful, and to be capable of 
inflicting upon him just punishment. His language is 
that of an intelligent being; there are no marks of 
abberration of intellect. The scene makes the great¬ 
est impression ; and when the evil spirit comes out of 
the man he does so with the utmostviolence. He vents 
his spirit to the last. The animus that contrived the 
fall of our first parents is here apparent; the demonia¬ 
cal possession accords with what occurred then. Take 
then the account as it reads ; and with the congregation 
assembled in the synagogue on that memorable Sab¬ 
bath adore the mighty power of God. Amid the forms 


A SABBATH IN CAPERNAUM. 


213 


of evil in the time of Christ, it is clear that demoniacal 
possession was regarded by the Jews as the worst. 
That, as one form of evil, it should at that time have 
been permitted by God, is no more wonderful than that 
at different periods in the history of our world different 
forms of disease, strange, new, unknown, baffling for 
long all human skill, have ravaged the earth, and then 
have passed away, to give place in course of time to 
some new form of devastating disease, enigmatical as 
the Egyptian Sphynx. If we undertake to resolve into 
airy nothing the existence of demons—evil spirits—and 
their possession of men in the time of Christ—we may 
as well resolve away certain species of disease, which, * 
in every age, have baffled the skill of man; for the 
one as well as the other is unresolvable by human rea¬ 
son. 

The services of the synagogue were over ; the house 
was closed ; the sacred books returned reverentially to 
the coffer or ark, and laid aside. The house was left 
to its sileHce; a silence deepened by the departure of 
the throng with which it was filled. It was crowded 
probably to overflowing, the expected presence of Jesus 
having drawn together a larger congregation than usual. 
In silence we may suppose, musing upon what they had 
seen and heard, the people returned to their homes ; a 
more than ordinary solemnity rested on every mind, 
even upon those who were usually the most flippant, 
whom not even the sacredness of the Sabbath, or the 
deep theme of immortality, could teach sobriety and 
reverence. Children even were touched for the time 
with the demonstration of the visible presence of God, 


214 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


the God of their fathers, of Abraham, of Isaac, and of 
Jacob. 

There were men of wealth who formed part of the 
group ; those who lived in fine houses, and in the midst 
of opulence. Jesus entered into the house of the fish¬ 
erman, Simon Peter ; Andrew, the brother of Peter, and 
James and John,* their fellow partners, accompanied 
him. The door opens ; the house receives them ; they 
disappear from sight. Who has entered this house with 
these men? Who? None other than He who was be¬ 
fore all time ; whose existence, far back in the depths 
of eternity, cannot be traced by weak, finite mind. How 
impossible for us to measure back to that infinite dura¬ 
tion which always was. God of heaven and earth ! Is 
this so ? Has that door closed upon him who always 
was—who existed from eternity, and will forever exist? 
Has he assumed so humble a form? Does he consort 
with poor men—men of ignoble birth ? Does he demean 
himself to our lowly estate—not sitting among the 
great—not courting worldly influence—not seeking no¬ 
toriety—but entering this poor man’s house, sittino¬ 
down at his table, and partaking of his simple fare 
Yes. God himself is on the earth,—and he is at this 
moment in the house of Simon Peter. Before the time 
of the evening meal he demonstrates his divinity, his 
eternal Godhead and power, by healing the mother of 
Peter’s wife, and she arises from her sick-bed perfectly 
restored to health, and able at once to attend to the 
affairs of her son-in-law’s house. Her face is illumined 


♦Compare the three accounts in Lhke, Mark, and Matthew. 







A SABB.YTH IN CAPERNAUM. 


215 


with the glow of health ; and her presence with the rest 
of the family diffuses joy throughout the household. 
With what alacrity she ministers to Christ; how she 
watches his face; how thankful she feels. The one 
cloud that rested on the house and wrapped it in gloom 
has passed away. 

And now the softly descending sun (summer’s ardent 
heat has not yet commenced) announces the approach¬ 
ing close of day. Down in the valley, and on the west¬ 
ern shore of the lake he withdraws his beams before the 
time of his setting arrives. Gently steals still evening 
on; but when the day is fully gone, and the sun has set 
—to be quickly succeeded by night—an unusual activ¬ 
ity prevails. Until now all had been silent, but many 
had looked forward with intense anxiety to this evening 
hour. Now was heard on the lake the sound of oars ; 
now latches were raised, and doors were opened; and 
while daylight still lingered on the tops of the mount¬ 
ains, and some faint traces were seen on the face of the 
waters, a large multitude had assembled at the door of 
Simon Peter’s house. It would seem as if the arrival 
of Jesus in Capernaum and the fame of what had taken 
place that morning in the Synagogue, must have spread 
far and wide. Without the slightest distrust, from every 
part of the city, and possibly from the closely adjacent 
villages of Bethsaida and Chorazin, the sick were 

CD 

brought to Jesus. This fact in itself shows that he was 

o 

regarded with undoubting faith as the Messiah by these 
persons at this time. They fully expected when Messiah 
came their sick to be healed. This was according to 
the word of ancient prophecy. Messiah was to heal the 


216 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


sick. Thus it had been written : “ Himself took our in¬ 
firmities, and bare our sicknesses.”* This display of 
almighty power was looked for with the most perfect 
confidence, and consequently the houses were emptied 
of the sick. No matter what might be the form of the 
disease, or how long soever it may have resisted the 
healing art, or, apparently, how incurable, not a doubt 
seems to have been entertained but that a Great Physi¬ 
cian was at hand who could administer a remedy. Nor 
was their confidence misplaced; their foregone conclu¬ 
sion was fully verified. Of all that were brought every 
one was healed. It was not an isolated case here and 
there, but all the sick that were brought to Jesus, with¬ 
out a single exception, were cured. And not only the 
sick, but those who were possessed with devils were 
delivered from their tormentors. The devils were obe¬ 
dient to his word. That these were really devils who 
had entered into men, is evident from the knowledge 
they had of Christ. They addressed him as the “Christ 
the Son of God ”t So it had been in the morning at 
the synagogue. The devil had said, (though the pos¬ 
sessed uttered the words aloud w r ith his lips.) “Let us 
alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of 
Nazareth ? art thou come to destroy us ? I know thee 
who thou art, the Holy One of God.”t This is not the 
language of a madman, but of one possessing superior 
intelligence. The knowledge of the mission of Jesus 
to our world—of its aim or design to overthrow the 
kingdom of darkness, the empire of sin and Satan, was 


* Isa. liii. 4. 


f Luke iv. 41. 


t Ibid ver. 34. 



A SABBATH IN CAPERNAUM. 


217 


known to the devil and his agents. This must he ad¬ 
mitted. It is a theme interwoven throughout the sa¬ 
cred narrative. The book is aimless unless this be 
conceded. Consequently all hell is alarmed at the ad¬ 
vent of Christ; and he is resisted at every step by the 
devil and his angels. Possibly by addressing him as 
they did they may have hoped to discredit both him¬ 
self and his mission; or, if this was not their motive, 
their acknowledgment of Jesus may have been a sort of 
involuntary acknowledgment of him as the Messiah, the 
promised Saviour and Deliverer of our world from the 
thraldom of the Prince of Darkness. Thus, from the 
mouths of devils (evil being overruled for good) would 
farther testimony be furnished that Jesus was in very 
deed “ the Christ, the Son of God.” Here there is an 
argument to show that demoniacal possession was an 
evil by itself, just as sickness or insanity are evil by 
themselves; and, governed by the narrative, we must 
take it to mean just what it says. There are evil angels ; 
there are powers of darkness. In the time of Christ, 
and in part, as we suppose, for the greater display of 
his power, they were permitted actually to take pos¬ 
session of men; to afflict them in various ways, till they 
were forcibly driven out by the word of Christ. 

What a change passed over Capernaum! What an 
evidence was then furnished,—had it been consistent 
with the providential dealings of God to man,—of his 
power to remove evil from our world. It could have 
been done then, while he was in the world, but the full 
time had not yet arrived. Still, what happened should 
be regarded as a happy prelude to what will be by-and- 



218 


HEROD A.TNTIPAS. 


by. This world, which has been the scene of so much 
sin and sorrow— where sickness has wasted, and the 
sword destroyed-where evil has so long triumphed, and 
good been stricken to the dust,—is reserved as a theatre 
on which God will display his superabundant goodness 
to man: where a fabric will arise, a stately temple, 
on whose wide portals will be written in golden letters, 
these words : “ Glory to God in the highest; on earth 
peace ; and good will among men. 


JOHN THE BAPTIST IMPRISONED. 


219 






CHAPTER I. 

HEROD ANTIPAS IMPRISONS JOHN THE BAPTIST IN THE 

CASTLE OF MACH^ERUS. 

The castle of Machaerus, in which John the Baptist 
was imprisoned by Herod Antipas, was situated on a 
high cliff, or mountain top, overlooking the Dead Sea, 
and not far from the deep and long ravine by which the 
hot springs of Callirrhoe descend into the adjacent sea. 
This ravine was to the west of the castle, and was of 
such a depth, according to Josephus, that the eye could 
not reach to the bottom. On all sides the castle was 
“ ditched about with deep valleys, not easily to be passed 
over, or to be filled up with earth.” It was considered 
nearly, if not quite impregnable. 

The castle Machaerus stood on the east side of the 
Dead Sea, not very far from where the Jordan pours 
itself into its arid waters. It stood but a short dis¬ 
tance from the north end of the strange, mysterious 
lake. It must have commanded a view of this whole 
body of waters, from its northern to its southern ex¬ 
tremity, with the high and sterile mountains on both 
sides. Easily could be seen, toward the south, though 







/ 


220 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


often vailed by the thin mist which like a transparent 
curtain overhangs the sea, the high and sandy penin¬ 
sula which bulges from the eastern shore into the lake, 
narrowing the lake at this point, and partially cutting 
off the view toward the south. Still the eye might pass 
through the opening of the seas on the west side, down 
to the south end, where was the plain of Sodom and 
Gomorrah j and where at this day is to be seen Usdum, 
or the mountain of salt, and near it, also, a lofty pillar 
of pure salt. * Dark and desolate is this end of the 
mysterious sea ; low the shore; shallow the water for a 
good distance from the shore. Here the sun pours 
down his most fervid beams, and little v r ater is found 
to quench consuming thirst. Hardly can you breathe 
the close and stifling air, and almost impossible is it to 
resist the overpowering tendency to sleep. 

On both sides of the sea, along the Arabian and Ju¬ 
daean shores, pure, sweet water is to be found. On the 
east side the river Arnon pours its crystal stream into 
the salt sea, through a wide and high chasm ; along it 
pours, varying in depth at different points, until it 
reaches and enters the sea. This is but one ravine, on 
the east or Arabian side, out of many ; through these 
ravines you ascend, by a toilsome route, but thiough 
more or less luxuriance, to the high table-land of Moab, 
overlooking the sea. On the west side, also, are ravines, 
and streams, and fountains of u r ater. Close by the sea, 
on the west side, is one fountain. Five hundred feet 


* Lynch’s Expedition to the Dead Sea. This is one of the most useful of 
books. 








JOHN THE BAPTIST IMPRISONED. 


221 


up the mountain, at Engaddi. is another fountain, called 
“ the diamond of the desert.” Here you can quench 
your thirst in the purest, sweetest water. Thus in the 
midst of desolation and barrenness is relief found. 
These naked mountains, these high, steep cliffs, this 
briny sea, the bleak, desolate shores which encompass 
the sea, with here and there a little spot of green, or 
patch of canebrake, have some marks of humanity 
about them ; as if man in no case is to be left without 
hope. The most desolate spot on earth, the gloomiest, 
the most forbidding, is not left without at least a tinge 
of sunshine to relieve the otherwise insupportable drear¬ 
iness. Is not this intended to teach man a lesson ? 
Who can conceive of such a thing, in any condition, as 
the human soul unsupported by hope ? Here, in a spot 
where cities overthrown for their wickedness, suffer 
“ the vengeance of eternal fire,” and are mementoes of 
the just wrath and righteous indignation of God, there 
is to be found an oasis—a fountain—a tree—which 
speak of mercy mingled with judgment. 

From the top of the castle in which John the Baptist 
was confined, could be seen this salt sea, with its heavy 
waves lashed into tempest by the rising wind; high 
would the leaden waves rise, threatening to submerge 
the venturesome bark launched upon its heaving bosom. 
The wind quickly falling, the waves would at once sub¬ 
side, and become calm as before, the surface of the 
sea shining like molten lead. From the top of the 
castle, also, could be seen the sirocco, as it swept over 
the dull monotonous waters. Little of the sweet breath 
of wind is felt hero, all is still and surcharged with 





222 


HEROD ANT1PAS. 


death. Life in no form inhabits this sea; though the 
day is at hand when a fountain of water in Jerusalem is 
to be opened; a real fountain at the threshold of the 
.temple, which, flowing out of the city, is to reach this 
sea, to revivify it with life, and to remove from it the 
curse of barrenness. Fish will swim in its restored 
waters; fish of every kind (where none ever swam be¬ 
fore) will swim in this sea. As yet it has subserved no 
purpose of commerce, but it will then. As an inland 
lake it will perhaps be navigated, many a vessel sailing 
over its bosom;* yet will not its peculiar character be 
wholly changed. On the north end of the lake, where 
is more or less marsh, and at the south end, near which 
is Usdum, these miry places “will not be healed; they 
shall be given to salt.” f Why are the good so cast 
down at the condition of our earth? Even here, where 
desolation reigns in its most unmitigated form, we have 
a promise of good. If we may venture to think of John 
the Baptist as looking from his prison upon this dreary 
sea, we may imagine his heart cheered with the prom¬ 
ise of future good to our earth; a promise which leaves 
no part of the earth untouched by its healing powder. 
Even the Bead Sea, dark and sluggish so long, will 
wake to life, and shine in beauty. The voices of many 
fishermen will be heard on its now silent shores ; and 
their nets will be spread from Engaddi (where is the 
cave of Adullam) to En-eglaim, from the western to the 
eastern side of the lake. Suppose you that the blood 

■ 

of the prophets was shed in vain ? No. Their deaths 


* Ezek. xlvii. 10. 


t Ibid. ve*. 11. 



John’s disciples sent to jesus. 223 

form part of that chain of providence by which God 
effects his own gracious plan; a plan of mercy, wisdom 
and justice, too deep for us as yet fully to explore. 

We cannot by multiplying words say much more than 
that John the Baptist was at length cast into prison by 
Herod Antipas, at the instigation of that bloodthirsty 
woman, Herodias ; that the prison in which he was 
confined was the castle of Machgerus, and that here 
in due time, he ended his life. His imprisonment, as 
we know, was not strict, and his disciples had easy 
access to their master. 


CHAPTER II. 

JOHN IN PRISON SENDS TWO OF HIS DISCIPLES TO JESUS. 

« Th ere was a man sent from God, whose name was John.” John i. 6. 

Never did man appear on earth w ith so gieat a 
mission as John the Baptist. He stands alone m his 
grandeur, like a pyramid in the desert. At Ins birth 
the communication between heaven and earth, so long 
closed, was opened to be shut again no more. If ever 
a man could be said to be truly the herald of the slues, 
it was the forerunner of Jesus. His presence in our 
world marked the commencement of a new epoch. ie 
clouds about the mountain-top rolled away, the mist at 
its base was dispersed. God’s own hand drew aside 


I 



224 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


tne dark, impervious vail that hides the visible from the 
iuvisible, and as if he careered on air, riding above the 
clouds and storm and tempest, he announced the coming 
day; yea, even the dayspring from on high, the day of 
eternity itself. What! has not the earth been shrouded 
in darkness long enough ? Have not men groped their 
way in the dark long enough ? Is it not high time that 
the curtain that enwraps the earth, and hides so much 
that is bright behind its folds, should be drawn aside, 
or lifted up ; so that we may see beyond the dim and 
narrow horizon of time? To introduce this messenger 
from the skies upon the stage, and present him in his 
unexampled greatness to the world, the veil of heaven 
parts asunder—a glimpse at least of the heavenly glo¬ 
ry is afforded, its celestial throne is displayed to. our 
admiring view; while an angel of God swiftly flies 
from heaven w T ith a message of the very highest import, 
and the grand drama of “ the restitution of all things,’* 
of the “ creation of a new heavens and a new earth,” is 
ushered in with a degree of splendor and solemnity 
suited to the greatest event the world had yet seen. 

When in Greece, at the Olympic games, or at any 
other particular solemnity or festival, the theatre was 
opened and a play performed, full of religious feeling 
or sentiment, and displaying in scenic form some tragic 
picture of human life, some dark unravelled web of 
fate,—every adventitious aid was given from surround¬ 
ing natural scenery, and the position even of the thea¬ 
tre itself, to add to the deep impression of the scene,— 
and to fix upon the minds of the spectators the exist¬ 
ence of the overruling power of the gods. And now 


JOHN S DISCIPLES SENT TO JESUS. 


225 


when God incarnated is to appear in our world, to solve 
all mysteries, and explain each dark event in human 
history—to pierce the cloud of night—is not the event 
with all the circumstances attending it to be marked 
with the utmost significancy, and to be surrounded with 
such gorgeous drapery and bright unfoldings as God 
alone can impart and furnish. The appearance of John 
the Baptist in our world was as if he had stepped forth 
on the stage of time from the skies ; he lived as an 
angel rather than as a man on the earth, having been 
sanctified from the womb, and then in a chariot of fire 
more glorious even than that of his namesake, ascended 
into heaven, leaving a track of glory behind, which like 
sunlight on the hills, has not yet faded away. The sun 
set, but its rays remained; they are seen all glittering 
and golden to this auspicious day. 

Oh, God, what a mission! To herald the advent of 
the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ into our 
world, and to bid men to look forward through all mys¬ 
teries and darkness to that most glorious event, the 
great theme of prophecy, the “ Restitution of all 
things.” 

But his short race is nearly run. He is in prison^ 
and his blood must be added to that of the martyrs of 
the Old Testament. The prison has no gloom for him ; 
his soul is full of light. The “ sure mercies of David,” 
that is, the resurrection of the dead, built on the re¬ 
surrection of Christ from the dead, had been fully 
unfolded to his divinely illumined mind. Should this 
doctrine be made known to David, and not to the re- 
vealer of Jesus to men ? Surely not. When he pointed 


226 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


to Jesus as “ The Lamb of God,” he himself understood 
well the secret of his death and resurrection. “ Lamb 
of God,” as applied to Christ, was not a sealed formula 
to this man of God. He understood its deep import; 
the virtue that lies concealed in the phrase was conveyed 
to his enraptured soul; and with David he rejoiced in 
the great fact of the resurrection of Christ from the 
dead. He was as one who stands on a high mountain 
top, and sees the day dawn while all is yet buried in 
darkness in the valley below; ere scarce as yet a ray 
of light has darted down the mountain side. 

When John stood on the flowery banks of the Jor¬ 
dan^ and had pointed out Jesus as the Christ to the 
Jews,—not finding his words generally heeded—his 
testimony of Jesus indeed at first wholly rejected,—he 
sent two of his disciples to Jesus to be taught particu¬ 
larly of him. What the result was we know. They 
came away from their interview with him with the full 
conviction that Jesus was the Christ; and remained ev¬ 
er after his steady adherents. This was the result of a 
single interview; and their conviction was founded on 
the witness, or testimony of John, with the declaration 
of Scripture testimony pointed out by Jesus,—unsup¬ 
ported as yet by any of those mighty works which were 
afterward performed. Jesus is now in the full fame of 
his ministry ; the word or testimony of John is support¬ 
ed by the wonderful works of Jesus. Desirous that 


0 

* See Lynch’s Expedition to the Jordan and the Dead Sea; in which we 
follow the adventurers down the entire length of the ever winding stream, 
over many a whirling rapid. 



John’s disciples sent to jesus. 


227 


the disciples who remained with him should have fur¬ 
ther demonstration that Jesus was the Christ, he sent 
two of them forth on a mission of inquiry to the very 
fountain-head, to Jesus himself. Perhaps in this hour 
of trial his disciples needed special encouragement; they 
saw their loved master imprisoned; and doubts may have 
been suggested by Satan whether John had not made 
a mistake. Not that they yielded to these doubts : by 
no means ; they contended victoriously against them as 
unworthy of their master, who, they surely believed, 
“ was a man sent from God.” John, even in his prison, 
exulting in the success of Christ, was led to send two 
of his remaining disciples to see with their own eyes, 
and report to the rest. This they did; and in due time 
returned and reported to the faithful few that clave to 
John in his imprisonment, the great works of Christ. 
This was of service to them; they rejoiced at what they 
heard ; the testimony of John concerning Jesus received 
additional confirmation, and John’s spirit was cheered 
by the joy and hopefulness of his disciples. As for 
John, he needed not any additional testimony to this 
great fact; this fact had been his very life; in the 
desert it had been as manna to his soul; the words of 
his father, that he was the appointed prophet of the 
Highest, ever rung in his ears ; they were confirmed 
at length by the sign from Heaven which the great 
God designated as the seal of his mission. What more 
could he have? To know Jesus as the Christ was his 
all of knowledge ; not to know Jesus as the Christ, in 
the fullest sense, constituted him an incompetent wit¬ 
ness, and to suppose that he could lose this knowledge 


228 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


during a brief and not severe imprisonment, (for he had 
many relaxations) is to suppose him to have been un¬ 
worthy of the name and high office of a prophet of the 
living God; himself the foremost and highest on the 
illustrious list. Is death then so terrible that so just a 
man should fear to die ? None but a coward could thus 
fear; not such a man as John the Baptist, who rather 
than keep back any portion of the truth exposed himself 
to the greatest peril; and at length paid the penalty of 
his fidelity to truth with his life. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE DEATH OF JOHN THE BAPTIST. 

We need not dwell on the death of John the Baptist. 
It is an event familiar to every reader. In the castle of 
Machmrus he was slain, and thus ended his life and 
testimony. We will close what we have to say of this 
man of God, with his last testimony of Jesus, just before 
he was cast into prison, as recorded by John the Evan¬ 
gelist. It is as follows: 

“John answered and said, A man can receive nothing 
except it be given him from heaven. Ye yourselves 
bear me witness that I said, I am not the Christ, but 
that I am sent before him. He that hath the bride is 
the bridegroom, but the friend of the bridegroom, which 
standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly, because of 



DEATH OF JOHN THE BAPTIST. 


229 


the bridegroom’s voice. This my joy therefore is ful¬ 
filled. He must increase, but I must decrease. He 
that cometh from above is above all: he that is of 
the earth is earthly, and speaketh of the earth: he that 
cometh from heaven is above all. And what he hath 
seen and heard, that he testifieth, and no man re- 
ceiveth his testimony. He that hath received his tes¬ 
timony, hath set to his seal that God is true. For he 
whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God : for 
God giveth not the Spirit by measure unto him. The 
Father loveth the Son, and hath given all things into his 
hand. He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting 
life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see 
life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.”* 

This is the wonderful testimony of John the Baptist, 
the forerunner of Jesus, just before he was cast into 
prison ; and he cheerfully sealed his testimony with his 
death. The grave wore to him a smiling face. Why 
should it not? It was the gate through which he passed 
into the presence of God, and put off whatsoever was 
cumbersome in the flesh. 

As to his last, recorded testimony of Jesus, what 
words did he use. 

“ He that cometh from above is above all.” And 
again: 

“He that cometh from heaven is above all.” 


* John iii. 27—36. 



HEROD ANT1PA8. 


230 


look d%|j% 


CHAPTER I. 

TIBERIUS LEAVES HIS VILLA. 

A. D. 32. 

» 

We anticipate the order of time a little. Certain 
events occurred at the end of the year 31 which have 
not been mentioned. While Tiberius remained in the 
seclusion of his villa, the friends, relations and adhe¬ 
rents of Sejanus were sacrificed without mercy. To 
have been the friend of Sejanus, in the eye cf the senate, 
furnished sufficient ground of death, as if nearly all the 
senate had not been guilty of the crime. Who, indeed, 
judged by this rule, w T as more guilty than the emperor ? 
All the eminent men of Rome, with but few exceptions, 
following the example of Tiberius, had ranged them¬ 
selves among the fast friends and adherents of the min¬ 
ister. They hung upon his favor as upon that of the 
emperor. In the executions that followed it would be 
curious to learn how the senate distinguished between 
the guilty and the innocent: had justice been done, how 
many of that body would have escaped? In the dark 
and cloudy day few were found who avowed their friend¬ 
ship for the fallen minister; yet Tacitus records one 



TIBERIUS LEAVES HIS VILLA. 


231 


noble minded man, who did not disavow his regard, but 
defended his friendship and love. In the course of his 
speech in the senate he made the following remark: 
“Which of the two evils is the worst, to suffer, on the 
one hand, for a faithful attachment, or, on the other, to 
blacken the character of the man whom we have loved, 
I shall not decide.”* 

The uncle of Sejanus, Junius Blsesus, a man of con¬ 
summate military talents, united with great political abil¬ 
ities, 5 perished; also the eldest son of Sejanus, and his 
daughter, “ as yet a tender infant, and insensible of her 
sad conditionJf Neither rank, nor sex, nor age was 
safe. The records of the time are not sufficient to en¬ 
able us to speak save in somewhat general terms of the 
havoc that was made among men of the first distinction, 
senators as "well as Roman knights; the whole forming 
a most gloomy picture, and enveloping Rome in sad¬ 
ness. 

To increase the horror of that dismal period, Apicata, 
the repudiated wife of Sejanus, overwhelmed by the 
untimely end of her eldest son, (who was in no way im¬ 
plicated in the conspiracy of his hither) revealed to 
Tiberius the plot of her husband and Livia against his 
son Drusus; and now for the first time, after the lapse 
of eight years, the emperor learned that his son came 
to Ins death by the hands of Livia his wife, and Sejanus. 
He had thought that Drusus died through intemper¬ 
ance ; what Apicata said roused him from his lethargy 
in his villa, and awaking from his state of inactivity 


♦ Tac. An. book 5. sec. 6. 


t Ibid. sec. 9. 







232 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


“he passed several days in a close inquiry into all the 
circumstances of that transaction.” Eudemus, the phy¬ 
sician, and LygduSj the eunuch, confessed their guilt, 
and were executed. Of the end of Livia, widow of 
Drusus, we have no certain information, but we may 
reasonably suppose that she perished by order of Ti¬ 
berius. Such was the end of this guilty woman, and 
most richly did she merit her doom. Harely, if ever 
does guilt escape its due punishment in some form or 
or other, even in this life—an accusing conscience— 
harrowing remorse—are not these tormentors ? While 
a heart at rest is the reward of one who fears God and 
works righteousness. * 

The lion had come forth from his den. Tiberius now 
was seen going from villa to villa. Another spring and 
opening summer had come round ; the almond, the 
vine, and the fig bloomed again on the island, especially 
in that little fertile spot between the eastern and west¬ 
ern mountain. Now he might be seen ascending this 
easy staircase, now that, to reach the different eminen¬ 
ces. * Now at noon, he shelters himself under the 
shade of some tree, or of some overhanging cliff, and 
inhales the southwest wind of summer. He has numer¬ 
ous subterranean apartments; he wanders through 
them ; he seeks relief but finds done. 

What nine months of agony were those that followed 
the death of Sejanus! 

What this tyrant suffered during those nine months, 
what pen can depict ? He was haunted by a thousand 


* Addison’s description of Capreae. 



TIBERIUS LEAVES HIS VILLA. 


furies ; he rolled on his bed in anguish. Sleep departed 
from his eyelids ; he had no rest day nor night. It was 
as if the tormentors had seized him. “ His crimes,” 
says Tacitus, “ retaliated upon him with the keenest 
retribution : so true is the saying of the great philoso¬ 
pher,* that if the minds of tyrants were laid open to 
our view, we should see them gashed and mangled with 
the whips and stings of horror and remorse. 5 ’! Because 
such men repose in seeming security, and their crimes 
escape punishment, we imagine that they are at rest, 
and envy their condition. They are little to be envied. 
Thus was it with Tiberius. We suppose that during 
the greater part of the time of his seclusion, his facul¬ 
ties were nearly paralysed. Perhaps he thought that 
they would never again recover their vigor. In his des¬ 
pondency he fell back upon himself, and, for awhile 
nerveless, full of fear, in part alarmed by imaginary ter¬ 
rors, he was ready to sink down in a state of utter des¬ 
pair. While danger threatened he was compelled to 
act; but that averted was followed by a feeling of al¬ 
most utter hopelessness, until the revelation concerning 
the murder of Drusus recalled his energies, and once 
more roused him to action. 


* Socrates. 


f Tac. An. b. 6. sec. 6. 




234 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER II. 

TIBERIUS SAILS ALONG THE CAMPANIAN SHORE. 

A. D. 32. 

Once more Tiberius, in a vessel, with certain select 
companions, among whom was Caius Caligula, his suc¬ 
cessor, (the youngest son of Germanicus,) embarks ; 
sailing slowly along the Campanian coast, and making 
as if he would visit Rome, enter its gates, be seen in its 
streets, and tread the apartments of the palace on the 
Palatine hill. Six years had elapsed since he left the 
city; six miserable years in his life. He was now sev¬ 
enty-two or three years of age, but his mind was active 
and vigorous. Dissipation had no doubt enfeebled his 
naturally robust frame, yet his will was strong as iron, 
he strove against the infirmities of age, and would 
hardly admit to himself that his constitution was en¬ 
feebled by his daily excesses. His imagination revelled 
in scenes of licentiousness; age did not impair the 
force of his desires. The elevation of a pure and noble 
mind was not there, nor freedom from debasing thought. 
There could not have been much freedom of discourse, 
for the rhetoricians, the grammarians, whose society he 
preferred, were afraid lest he might misconstrue some 
unguarded word, and visit them with his wrath. He did 
this more than once; and those who were admitted into 
the closest and most familiar intercourse were never 


TIBERIUS SAILS ALONG THE CAMPANIAN SHORE. 235 


safe ; neither could they ever have been wholly free 
from fear. How severe is that tyranny which rules the 
mind as well as the body! Tiberius in the early part 
of his reign was less exacting, and b^ no means so 
ready take offence. But toward the close of life he was 
suspicious and jealous to the last degree ; and imagined 
offences, or slights, or inuendoes where none were 
meant. How unhappy was this man! As, however, 
they sailed along, various was the discourse : turning 
on literary and philosophical topics. Tiberius had an 
acute and argumentative mind. Astrology was one of 
his favorite subjects, and he loved to look into* the fu¬ 
ture. The art of divination, to some extent, he possessed, 
and gave instances of strange skill, from whatever 
source his knowledge of future events was derived. 

Along the whole Campanian coast the vessel sailed. 
From Surrentum to Misenum; from Misenum to Sinu- 
essa, now known as Mondragone.* The same headlands 
struck the eye then as now. There was Mount Pausily- 
po ; there Cape Misenum with its harbor, stretching out 
into the sea, and the waves dashing against the rocky 
promontory. There was also Mount Circeio, as now. 
Then there were numerous towns along the coast; 
among the rest Antium: (within two miles of what 
is now called Nettuno) there was also Terracina, 
where the Appian way strikes the sea. As he sailed 
by this place, could Tiberius fail to recall the scene 


* “ It is along the shores of these two gulfs, that is, from Sinuessa to 
Misenum, and from Misenum to Surrentum, (Bay of Naples) that the whole 
of Campania is situate*!.” Strabo, book 5. c. 4. sec 3. 



236 


HEROD ANTIPA3. 


when his life was saved by Sejanus ? The various is¬ 
lands that dotted the sea then, dot it now. There were 
Ischia and Procida; but most striking of all, there was 
the little island of Pandataria (now called Ventotene) 
on which still languished in prison and in exile the un¬ 
fortunate Agrippina, the widow of Germanicus. Did no 
touch of pity move the obdurate tyrant’s heart, at the 

siadit? None. Immoveable was his stern face as he 
© 

looked upon it, appearing but as a speck in the dis¬ 
tance. No soft relentings were felt, no yearnings of 
heart toward one so disconsolate. Thought he not, also, 
of his dissolute wife, Julia, daughter of Augustus, who, 
by his order, in the first year of his reign, perished of 
starvation on this island? The people of Rome felt more 
pity for this unhappy wife and mother, this daughter of 
the emperor, than did either her father or Tiberius, her 
third and last husband. How alive was this shore 
with cities and temples which have since crumbled into 
dust! How many splendid edifices of the great men of 
Rome then adorned the coast, which with their owners 
have long since passed away. 

Then, also, Christ lived; and the same hand that 
has recorded the name and acts of Tiberius,—that has 
mentioned even this sailing voyage,—has mentioned the 
name of Christ. As Tiberius Crnsar was taking this 
voyage, Jesus the Christ was preaching in Judea, and 
doing many mighty works. Shall we receive the un¬ 
varnished record of the one, his acts of tyranny, his 
nameless vices,—and not the account of the good deeds 
and holy life of the other ? Why receive the account 
of i/he one, and reject that of the other ? They both 


TIBERIUS SAILS ALONG THE CAMPANIAN SHORE. 237 


belong to that age; and trod the stage of life at the 
same time. The vices of Tiberius are inseparably con¬ 
joined with Capreae ; the endless deeds of beneficence 
of Jesus—of his wonder-working power—are written 
on every streamlet, hill top, valley, and city of Judea. 
How is it that the name of Jesus is thus so indissolu¬ 
bly joined with the land of Judea (as that of Tibe¬ 
rius with Capreae) if he had not so identified it with 
that land, as that it could not possibly be disjoined 
from it. 

We know not how long the sailing voyage of Tiberi¬ 
us lasted. Tacitus tells us * he landed at “ many pla¬ 
ces” along the coast; he sailed up the Tiber ; be visited 
his gardens on the banks of the river; he approached 
within sight of the city, and then disappointing the 
people, returned once more to his island. This no 
doubt gave his malicious bosom pleasure—much more 
so than the adulation of the people, had he gratified 
their wishes. 


* Tac. An. Book vi. sec. 1 




238 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER III. 

SOME INSTANCES OF THE CRUELTY OF TIBERIUS DURING 
HIS RESIDENCE ON THE ISLAND OF CAPREjE. 

The marks of infamy and cruelty which have been 
left upon the name and memory of Tiberius Nero Caesar, 
were made in the closing years of his age. He grew 
harder as he grew older ; more obdurate ; as if he 
would revenge upon others the mental tortures wliich 
he endured. 

He knew himself to be little loved; but that on the 
contrary he had become the object of general loathing, 
fear and hatred. How differently he was regarded from 
Augustus. While all hailed with acclaim Augustus, 

O O' 

and nothing was so much feared as his death, all looked 
forward with longing desire and intense expectation for 
the moment when Tiberius would be removed from their 
midst, and his successor, Caius Caligula, the youngest 
son of Germanieus, should take his place. The people 
little thought what a successor he would have in Ca¬ 
ligula, and how much more abominable his vices would 
be than those of Tiberius, at all events more open-faced, 
if not more flagrant. Surely the avenging furies had 
seized upon Rome, and it was about to reap the fruit of 
its evil doings. The hour of judgment upon the ill-fated 
city had at last arrived. God avenges upon cities the 
misdeeds of their rulers and people; no great calamity 
has ever yet fallen upon the capital of a great nation, 


CRbELTY OF TIBERIUS. 

crimefoJT '7 Wn 7 *“** Upon its in 

of if, • k I y ^ rU e ' S ’ and the S enera l dissoluteness 

tvorId bv T MMy a l6SS0n is lost npon the 

n he 7 ’ e l 1 PI ' eSent retributi °n. and not seeing 
■n the signal overthrow of nations, and especially of 

gieat cities, the seal that God affixes upon crime. Let 
us not altogether look beyond the annals of time for the 
display of the just judgment of God upon the ungodly 
but remember that this earth has been the scene°(why 
should it not have been?) of dreadful catastrophe! 
which have swallowed up the mightiest cities, and have 
eir record for the instruction of men. Had the 
Koman empire heeded the lesson which it had received 
in the three great empires by which it had been pre¬ 
ceded, how much better for its after fate it would have 
been.. But nations, like men, learn nothing from the 
experience of those that have gone before, but tread 
int y the same beaten path, and experience in the 
end one and the same fate. We are too much given 
to ignore the earth as, in part, at least, the scene of 
retribution, and as the stage on which God enacts his 
most fearful tragedies. 

But we have been drawn unexpectedly from our nar¬ 
rative by this digression. 

It is perhaps a peculiar feature in the character of 
Tiberius, that he should have hidden as under a cloak 
his worst traits xor the last few years of a long life. 

1 his is thought to have been mostly the result of cir¬ 
cumstances : the seed was there, though it ripened so 
late. \\ e are told that when he was a boy, his teacher 
in rhetoric, Theodorus of Gadara, depicted his naturally 


240 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


cruel and sullen temper by describing it as il mud mixed 
with blood.”* On the island of Rhodes, it is said, he 
did not hesitate to make way with those who were ob¬ 
noxious to him, and that once Thrasyllus, his favorite 
astrologer, just escaped death by some happy exertion 
of his art, Tiberius having resolved to cast him into the 
sea.t We are even told that he showed some letters of 
his brother Drusus to Augustus, in which his brother 
had said that Augustus should be forced to restore the 
public liberty.f 

Certain it is, that the people thought had Drusus 
lived he would have made an effort to restore the re¬ 
public ; and long and tenderly on this account, as well 
as for his amiable disposition and many noble traits, 
they cherished his memory ;—at his death transferring 
their love for him to his son Germanicus, the heir of 
every princely virtue. We know enough of Tiberius to 
conceive of his doing so mean a thing as this, and be- 
trajfing his brother because of his popularity. Tiberi¬ 
us surely had not a great and magnanimous nature ; we 
do not recollect a single instance in his life as a warrant 
for this. He was assuredly intensely selfish. He was 
also of a gloomy, morose, and unsociable disposition, 
sullen and reserved. Dion Cassius says he was one of 
those whose words and looks express the very opposite 
of what they feel; and that his character must be closely 
inspected and thoroughly studied to know when he was 
pleased and when displeased.! Still, to the honor of 


* Suet. Life Tib. Sec. 57. f Ibid. sec. 14. 
X Life of Tiberius by Dion Cassius. 





CRUELTY OP TIBERIUS. 


241 


Tiberius it must be said, that he detested the servility 
of those who were most servile; thereby showing that 
he had some trace of greatness, one mark of a nature 
not originally ignoble. A truly great mind admires 
whatever is noble and virtuous, and cannot stoop to 
that which is low and mean. 

But whatever may have been the early character of 
liberius, however he may have disguised his real char¬ 
acter for a long series of years, or kept down a cruel 
disposition, he became in the end a most cruel tyrant; 
remorseless, inaccessible to pity. His treatment of his 
daughter-in-law, Agrippina, of his grandsons, Nero and 
Drusus, furnish sufficient proof of this. They all per¬ 
ished miserably under his hands; Agrippina almost 
under his sight. During the imprisonment of Agrippi¬ 
na she was treated with the greatest severity; one of 
her eyes was put out by the blow of a centurion, en¬ 
couraged to such treatment by Tiberius. After her 
death her memory was loaded with the blackest crimes. 
What sort of a person is he who traduces the dead; 
who charges unjustly an innocent woman, in her grave, 
with scandalous crimes ? Unhappy Drusus 1 Think of 
his slow, lingering death in the vaults of the Palati- ' 
urn, while his grandfather wallowed in filthy orgies in 
subterranean apartments that he had built in Caprem. 
Nero, also, died of starvation, as is thought. There 
was but Caius left; and Tiberius is said to have medi¬ 
tated his death ; and might have accomplished it, had 
he lived a little longer. We do not speak of Sejanus: 
he richly deserved death, and all engaged in his dark 
conspiracy ; but think of the condemnation of the inno- 


242 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


# 

cent along with the guilty. Especially may we drop a 
tear of pity over the little daughter of Sejanus, on her 
way to death, appealing, in softest accents to know 
what she had done wrong.* Think of his conduct to 
his aged mother; this unnatural son, as if he were free 
from filial obligation, or any sentiment of love to the 
author of his being, pretending business while immersed 
in sensuality, as an excuse for not attending her fune¬ 
ral. Had not the last spark of humanity expired in his 
bosom ? 

If he were thus cruel to his own, we need not wonder 
at his cruelty to others. On the eastern end of the 
island, there is a spot still shown between Pharos, 

“ Where the lantern fix’d on high 
Shines like a moon through the benighted sky, 

While by its beam the wary sailor steers,” f 

and Villa Jovis, called “ The Leap,” where those condem¬ 
ned to die, after long and exquisite tortures before the 
eyes of the emperor, were thrown into the sea. Far down 
the transparently clear waters their bodies could be 
seen descending, while in case of life remaining in a 
sufferer there was a party of boatmen lying in the 
offing, prepared with poles and oars to break their 
bones. Tiberius did not mean that one should escape. 
He delighted in suffering, and sought to prolong the tor¬ 
tures of his victims as much as possible. Ingenious 
tormentor! He invented new methods of torture, such 
was the dire malignity of his nature. If he could give 
one additional pang to a victim, he was happy. He was 


* Tac. An. b. 5. s. 9. 


f Addison’s description of Caprese 




CRUELTY OF TIBERIUS. 


243 


essentially a tyrant, not from any motive of royal policy 
—but because he actually delighted in cruelty. Hence 
the dark cloud that enshrouds his name, and blackens 
his fame in the eyes of posterity. 

In the case of Asinius Gallus, son of the celebrated 
Asinius Pollio, the friend of Virgil and Horace, of Caesar 
Augustus, also, we have an instance of that refinement 
of cruelty in which Tiberius so much delighted, and 
which shows truly the nature of the man. Asinius had 
married Vipsania Agrippina, daughter of Marcus Agrip- 
pa, after Augustus had compelled Tiberius, his step-son, 
to divorce Vipsania, his first wife, whom he passionately 
loved, and marry Julia. This was one cause of dislike 
on the part of Tiberius towards Asinius Gallus. Then 
again, at the time Tiberius before the senate acted as if 
he were uncertain whether to accept or to decline the 
empire, Asinius made an unhappy speech, which brought 
down upon him the wrath of Tiberius. It was an im¬ 
prudent speech on the part of the senator, which he had 
no sooner uttered than he regretted that he made it. 
While the senate urged Tiberius to accept the empire 
yet the more strenuously because he seemed to decline 
it, the emperor at last, as if yielding to their solicita¬ 
tions, “ intimated that though unequal to the whole, he 
was willing to undertake any part that might be com¬ 
mitted to his care:”* Upon this Asinius Gallus said, 
“Inform us, Caesar, what part do you choose ?” Little 
did Tiberius expect such a question as this ; he extri¬ 
cated himself from the dilemma as well as he could. In 


* Tac. An. Book I, sec. 12. 




244 


HKROD ANT1PAS. 


vain did Asinius Gallus attempt an apology; the em¬ 
peror regarded what he had said as a grave affront, and 
laid it up in his heart against him. At length the hour 
of revenge came, though years had passed away since 
the offence was given. Asinius was a friend to Sejanus 5 
that minister was still in power at the time to which we 
refer, though his power was on the wane. The senate, 
ignorant of the change which had taken place in the 
feelings of the emperor toward the minister, had decreed 
new honors to him, and had deputed Asinius Gallus to 
wait upon the emperor at Capreae, and inform him of 
the same. Tiberius received the deputy with a smile ; 
he was entertained in the most hospitable manner, was 
“ a constant guest at his table, and a sharer in all his 
pleasures.” But, while outwardly thus welcoming and 
receiving him with every honor, the emperor secretly 
despatched a letter to the senate, containing charges 
against his guest, and requiring that Asinius, as a 
criminal, should at once be taken into custody. An 
officer was sent to apprehend him, and he was seized 
while enjoying the hospitality of the emperor. To se¬ 
cure his estate to his children, Asinius would have put 
an end to his life, but was persuaded by the emperor 
not to do so, as he might safely rely on his protection. 

Asinius was taken to Rome, placed in close confine¬ 
ment, deprived of the sight of his friends, and just al¬ 
lowed food enough to keep him alive and prolong his 
misery. To lengthen out his torture gratified the 
malice of Tiberius; and this was the sole reason why 
the emperor hypocritically promised to use his influ¬ 
ence with the senate in behalf of Asinius. As if indeed 


245 


CRUELTY OF TIBERIUS. 

the senate would have dared to proceed as they did, un¬ 
less instigated by Tiberius. Here we see the emperor 
entertaining as a chosen guest a man whom he hated, 
and had lesolved to destroys and to prolong his misery 
interceding with him to live, at the same time giving 
him the strongest assurance of his favor and protection. 
The hate and malice of Tiberius would be fed, and his 
revenge sweetened and intensified by prolonging the 
torments of his enemy. Thus he refined upon cruelty, 
and delighted in the exquisite suffering and lengthened 
tortures of his unhappy victims. Thus did Drusus for 
three years languish in confinement, before he was 
starved to death. So, too, Agrippina’s imprisonment 
was protracted for the space of three long years, ere 
she was permitted to die of starvation. 

Of all details, those of man’s cruelty to man are far 
the most painful. We hasten to draw these details 
to a close. We are told by Suetonius that of twenty 
persons of the greatest eminence in Rome, whom he 
had chosen as counsellors in the administration of pub¬ 
lic affairs, scarcely two or three escaped the fury of his 
savage disposition.* Upon one pretence or another all 
the rest were destroyed. It would not be difficult for 
Tiberius to find or invent some pretext for their des¬ 
truction when he punished those whom his mother en¬ 
trusted with the care of her funeral for this very reason 
and no other. Might not the poet well say, (and the 
lines were written while Tiberius lived i) 


* Life Tib. Sec. & 5 . 


* 



246 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


“ Obdurate wretch! too fierce, too fell to move 
The least kind yearnings of a mother’s love.” 

Having shamefully neglected his mother in her last 
moments, and having failed to follow her remains to the 
tomb, he punished those who showed that respect to 
her last wishes, in which he of all men should not have 
been deficient. What did he not owe to the love of 
his mother? He owed the empire itself. He repaid 
the debt as we have seen. 


CHAPTER IV. 

TRAITS OF CHARACTER, AND CERTAIN SAYINGS AND DOINGS 

OF TIBERIUS. 

The dissimulation of Tiberius (in vain we search for 
pleasing traits in the character of this man) appeared 
on his first interview with the senate, ere he had form¬ 
ally accepted at their hands the empire. The senate, 
having paid all honor to Augustus, and among other 
things having deified him, “ and decreed a temple and 
religious worship to his memory,”*' now called upon Ti¬ 
berius to take the head of the commonwealth. Instead 
of at once yielding to their invitation, Tiberius pretend¬ 
ed that the burden was too great, the duties too onerous 
for one person to discharge,—that Augustus alone was 


* Tac. An. book i. sec. 11. 




CHARACTER OF TIBERIUS. 


247 


capable of sustaining such a weight,—and that the dif¬ 
ferent departments of public business should be filled 
by the best and ablest citizens.* These reasons, and 
others, he urged in opposition to the wishes of the 
senate. Thus he played on and off—not declining the 
empire, but making as if he intended to decline it, 
when, too, almost all knew that what he said was sheer 
pretence. Some senators, however, were so much de¬ 
ceived by his manner as to suppose that he was sincere, 
and even went so far as to ask questions, and make 
propositions, with a view to meet his wishes and satisfy 
his modesty; but most deeply offended was he at those 
who unwittingly took him at his word, and inquired in 
what way he desired to share the sovereignty with an¬ 
other. This mode of proceeding exposed his duplicity 
at once, and showed to all how feigned a part he acted. 
Tiberius had sense enough to see this ; and how he was 
stripped of all disguise. Nothing but the sole sover¬ 
eignty of the empire would suit him; nothing less did 
he resolve to have. Still, with the dissimulation by 
which he was characterized, for quite a considerable 
time he spoke and acted as we have said. At length, 
as if overborne by the persuasions of the senate, he 
reluctantly acceded to their importunate request. What 
a piece of acting was this on the part of Tiberius. But 
it accorded with the deceitfulness of his whole conduct 
after he became emperor. 

During the commotions in Pannonia and Germany, 


* Tao. An. Book i. sec. 11. 






248 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


which followed his accession to the empire, while the 
legions were in a state of insurrection, he amused the 
populace with various false pretences that he would 
leave the city, and by his presence still the legions. He 
made every preparation, and for a time deceived the 
most discerning. Each day it was thought he would 
depart; but nothing was farther from the mind of Tibe¬ 
rius than leaving Rome at this time. All this show of 
departure was a mere pretence. It was a good while 
before the people waked up from the delusion. 

The envious nature of Tiberius appeared in his rela¬ 
tions with Germanicus. When this prince had recovered 
the prestige which Yarns had lost among the Germans) 
and had also gained no small renown by his victories, 
Tiberius, disquieted by his success, recalled him to 
Rome, pretending that the unsettled state of affairs in 
the East required his presence there. Every one knew 
that this was not true, and that Tiberius could not sleep 
because of the laurels of his adopted son. In this recall 
Tiberius was actuated solely by envy; he "was not gov¬ 
erned in the least by the good of the state. He wished 
to detach Germanicus from the soldiers, by whom he 
was so much loved. Germanicus was altogether too 
honorable to attack the authority of Tiberius, and this 
latter could not appreciate the high-minded character 
of the former. How differently Augustus acted toward 
Tiberius when he was commander-in-chief in Germany. 
Augustus was greatly pleased with the success of his 
step-son, and frankly told him so ; but Tiberius, at the 
success of his adopted son, Germanicus, harbored hate, 
distrust, and malice ; and soon as he could removed 


249 


CHARACTER OF TIBERIUS. 

him from his important post to a less favorable scene of 
action. 

A curious story is told of Tiberius by Dion Cassius, 
showing the emperor’s skill in divination. He had a 
grandson named after himself, and another named Caius, 
son of Germanicus. Knowing the destinies of both, and 
that Caius would succeed to the empire, to the exclu¬ 
sion of the other, it is reported that one day the em¬ 
peror said to Caius, “ you will command my grandson 
to be put to death, but you will afterwards be killed 
yourself.”* 

We are told by the same writer, that Tiberius put to 
death all the foreign astrologers and magicians, and 
banished those that were born at Rome, though he was 
himself perpetually with Thrasyllus, whom he consulted 
every day about futurity, being himself very skillful in 
that science, f 

Again, from the same source: “ The senators being 
importunate with Tiberius to suffer the month of No¬ 
vember to be called by his name, because he was born 
in that month, he said to them, ‘ What would you do, 
gentlemen, if you should happen to have thirteen Cae¬ 
sars V ” $ We are farther told by the same author, 
that he had a mind that the greatest part of the senate 
might be destroyed after his death, having often that 
ancient verse in his mouth : 

“-Whene’er I die, 

May all mankind dissolved in ashes lie I” 


* Life of Tiberius. 


fDion Cassius, vol. i. p. 221. 


X Ibid. p. 224. 




250 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Yet more, he often said that he thought Priam happy 
to see his kingdom and country perish with nim. # 

One of the things told of Tiberius is this. He had a 
very particular friend, by name Sextus Marius. Ibis 
Marius was a person of great wealth : so much so, that 
once having a difference with one of his neighbors, he 
invited him to stay two days at his house, on the first 
of which he ordered the other’s house to be pulled 
down, and next day employed so many hands that it 
was entirely rebuilt, and made finer and nobler than 
before. The master of the house being astonished at 
it, he said, “ That it was in his power to be revenged 
on his enemies, and to reward his friends just after the 
same manner.” This Sextus Marius, having a daughter 
extremely handsome, and fearing lest in his infamous 
amours, Tiberius might be familiar with her, sent her 
out of Rome. Tiberius divining the reason, and being 
exceedingly incensed, wholly regardless of their friend¬ 
ship, had him accused of having committed incest with 
his own daughter, and he was put to death.f 

Under the consulship of Taurus Statilius, and L. 
Libo, Tiberius prohibited the use of wrought silks, and 
gold plate, except at sacrifices, t 

When Tiberius returned from Rhodes to Rome, after 
an absence of nearly eight years, he expected confi¬ 
dently, from various prodigies and predictions, to obtain 
the empire. Even in his youth. Scribonius, the astrolo¬ 
ger, had predicted that he would come in time to be king ? 

* Dion CasUus. vol. i. p. 257 
t Dion Cassius, vol. i. p. 256. 


% Ibid. p. 220. 



CHARACTER OF TIBERIUS. 


251 


but without the usual badge of royal dignity ; the rule 
of the Caesars being as yet unknown. A few days be¬ 
fore he left Rhodes, an eagle, a bird never before seen 
in that island, perched on the top of his house. And 
the day before he received intelligence of the permis¬ 
sion granted him to return, as he was changing his 
dress, his tunic appeared to be all on fire. We have 
narrated how Thras)llus, the astrologer, upon sight of 
the ship that brought the intelligence, said that “ good 
news was coming.”* 

Tiberius, we are told, had such aversion to flattery, 
that he would never suffer any senator to approach his 
litter, as he passed the streets in it, either to pay him a 
civility, or upon business. And when a man of consul¬ 
ar rank, in begging his pardon for some offence he had 
given, attempted to fall at his feet, he started from him 
in such haste that he stumbled and fell.t 

Being once called “lord,” by some person, he desired 
that he might no more be affronted in that manner.! 

During his reign he often gave out that he would 
visit the provinces and armies, and made preparations 
for it almost every year, by taking up carriages and or¬ 
dering provisions for his retinue in the municipia and 
colonies. At last he suffered vows to be put up for his 
journey and safe return, insomuch that he was called 
jocosely by the name of Callipides, who is famous in a 
Greek proverb, for being in a great hurry to go for¬ 
ward, but without ever advancing a cubit. § 


* Suet. Tib. sec. 14. 


f Ibid, sec.27. 
t) Ibid. sec. 38. 


X Suet. Tib. sec. 27. 




252 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Upon the death of his son Drusus, the ambassadors 
from the people of Ilium coming rather late to offer 
their condolence, he said to them by way of banter, as 
if the affair had already faded from his memory, “ And 
I heartily condole with you on the loss of your re¬ 
nowned countryman, Hector.”* 

His daughter-in-law, Agrippina, after the death of 
her husband, complaining upon some occasion with 
more than ordinary freedom, he took her by the hand, 
and addressed her in a Greek verse, to this effect: “ My 
dear child, do you think yourself injured because you 
are not empress ?”t 

On his island nothing pleased Tiberius more than his 
safety from sudden intrusion; yet not long after his 
arrival in Caprese, a fisherman coming upon him unex¬ 
pectedly, when he was desirous of privacy, and present¬ 
ing him with a large mullet, he ordered the man's face 
to be scoured with the fish; being terrified at the 
thought of his having been able to come upon him from 
the back of the island, over such rugged and steep 
rocks. The man while undergoing his punishment, ex¬ 
pressing his joy that he had not likewise offered him a 
large crab which he had also taken, the emperor or¬ 
dered his face to be farther lacerated with its claws, t 

In calling over his prisoners, when one of them re¬ 
quested the favor of a speedy death, Tiberius replied, 
“You are not yet restored to favor.” And when one 
Carnilius, who was under prosecution, had killed him¬ 
self, he exclaimed, “ Carnilius has escaped me.” $ 


* Suet. Tib. sec. 52. 


f Ibid sec. 58. 


t Sec. 60. 


$ Sec. 61. 







SERVILITY OF THE ROMAN SENATE. 


253 


CHAPTER V. 

SERVILITY OF THE ROMAN SENATE. 

A man is only a man when he is true to his own con¬ 
victions. Then he rises almost above the weakness of 
humanity, and takes his seat among the gods. He is 
not governed by any selfish motive; he does not take 
his own interest into consideration. He forgets this; 
he overlooks this. Duty is all-prevalent with him; 
what God requires—what conscience dictates to be 
done. A high sense of patriotism distinguished the 
early ages of the republic, and laid the foundation of 
its future greatness ; but at the time of which we write 
a great change had come over the spirit or that august 
body, the Roman senate. Its early forms were pre¬ 
served,—it had its daily sittings,—the consuls presided 
over its deliberations,—it passed decrees, it heard ac¬ 
cusations,—acquitted or condemned,—but all its acts 
were but an echo of the wishes of the emperor. They 
studied simply to please him, with very little regard to 
the innocence or guilt of the party arraigned. There 
was no hope for those whom the emperor, instigated by 
hate or malice had foredoomed to death. 

In the very first year of the reign of Tiberius, the 
right of voting for magistrates, in the Field of Mars, 
was now for the first time taken from the people and 


254 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


vested wholly in the senate.* Thus passed away the 
last vestige of freedom from the people ;—henceforth 
their voice was of no account; and a great step was 
taken toward imperialism. Augustus had gradually pre¬ 
pared the way for this surrender of rights on the part 
of the people, and when the hour of disfranchisement 
arrived, “ they grumbled and submitted.” The reser¬ 
vation of the right to the senate was not of much use ; 
for as Tiberius showed more and more the instincts of 
a tyrant, his frown was greatly dreaded; none dared to 
oppose his will, and his word was law. None pretended 
to dispute his absolute will. 

We have an instance of the servility and affected de- 
ted devotion of the senate to Tiberius, when that body 
met to urge upon him the acceptance of the empire. 

We have already referred to this: while Tiberius 
seemed to hesitate, urging first one excuse and then an 
other, the senators, all the more importunate from the 
long delay, at length burst into tears, “ and at times 
fell prostrate at the knees of Tiberius.”f The most 
eminent men of that body, took part in this scenic dis¬ 
play; the ‘‘senators,” says Tacitus, “dreading nothing 
so much as the crime of knowing his character.” We 
are told of Haterius, a man of illustrious character, 
who having by some remark in the senate on that day, 
offended Tiberius, went to the palace next day to apol¬ 
ogise. In a suppliant posture he clasped the emperor’s 
knees; and in that moment Tiberius, entangled perhaps 
by the petitioner, or making a false step, fell to the 


* Tac. An. book i. sec. 15. 


t Ibid. sec. 12. 



SERVILITY OF THE ROMAN SENATE. 


255 


ground. This provoked the soldiers upon duty. Hate- 
rius was saved from their fury ; it was through the influ¬ 
ence ofLivia that Haterius was saved.* Tiberius was 
disarmed of his resentment through the solicitations of 
his mother. 

It was not however until after the departure of Tibe¬ 
rius from Rome, and his residence on the island of Ca- 
preae that the senate began to shew its true character. 
In proportion as Tiberius displayed the vindictiveness of 
his nature, as he broke out in acts of cruelty, and was 
swept farther and farther from his early moderation, the 
more pliant became the senate; the more ready tools in 
his hands to inflict any punishment he might suggest. 
We see this ready subserviency brought out in the case 
of Nero and Drusus, and their mother Agrippina, We 
have already more than once adverted to the case of these 
unhappy young men, and their still more unhappy mo¬ 
ther. Hardly was Drusus, the son of Tiberius dead, 
when, as we have seen, as the next heirs of the empire, 
they were introduced to the senate by the emperor, and 
recommended to their care. The scene was very impo¬ 
sing. The consuls went forth to meet the princes; they 
presented them to the emperor; and Tiberius, taking 
them by the hand, made a speech on the occasion, which 
drew forth tears from the whole assembly. But a little 
while did the princes enjoy this favor: Tiberius, in the 
beginning of the following year, his jealousy having been 
excited by Sejanus, and fearing the popularity of the 
young men, in a second speech to the senate, “ he desi- 


* Tac. An. book i. sec. J3. 



256 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


red that all might be on their guard, not to inflame minds 
of young men with ideas of power, and by consequence, 
with a spirit above their station.* This hint sufficed. 
Whatever might be their feeling ns individuals, or what- 
ever their regards for the posterity of Germanicus, or 
their pity for the young princes, especially their love for 
Nero in particular, they studied from this time not to let 
escape any words or official acts which might be con¬ 
strued in their favor; or as departing from the line of 
policy laid down by the emperor. On the contrary, from 
this time began the war against the house of German¬ 
icus, and against his friends. When the friends of Ger¬ 
manicus, and of his widow, were singled out for destruc¬ 
tion, though the senate well knew from what quarter the 
blow came, and the animus of the accusation; they inter¬ 
posed no harrier, but arraigned and condemned to please 
the emperor: and this too though they knew that these 
accusations portended the coming doom of the young 
princes. Fear stifled every generous emotion in their 
bosoms. They hardly foresaw that they in their turn 
might be proscribed, and fall by the same capricious 
cruelty. 

As the emperor withdrew his favor from the young 
men, the senate kept time with the change, not invest¬ 
igating the crimes charged; but simply recording their 
edict in conformity with the written statements sent from 
Caprese. Thus without a crime, these illustrious youths 
were declared public enemies, through the sycophancy 
of the Senate, without a voice in their favor. And at 


* Tac. An. book iv. sec. 17. 



ervility of the roman senate. 257 

last when Agrippina perished so miserably, this ensla¬ 
ved body, pretending to act as representatives of public 
opinion, and occupying so high a place in the councils 
of the nation, passed an act extolling the clemency of 
the emperor “ that she was not strangled, and thrown 
into the common charnel-house.”* What a piteous spec¬ 
tacle does this body present, thanking the emperor for 
such indulgence to his own daughter-in-law, guiltless of 
any crime; and ordaining by a decree that the day of 
her death, with that of Sejanus (they both expired on 
the same day) should be observed as a solemn festival, 
with annual offerings on the altar of Jupiter.f 

As a further evidence of the servility of the senate* 
we may mention that there were never wanting mem¬ 
bers of that body who were ready to act as prosecutors 
in the case of those whom Tiberius, or his minister Se¬ 
janus, wished to condemn. How thin was the veil 
after all, which the action of the senate cast over the 
malice of the emperor and his minister. In the cases, 
for instance, of Silius and his wife Sosia Galla, who 
were devoted to destruction by Tiberius, the one for his 
attachment to Germanicus, Sosia for her friendship to 
his wife, no less a person than Varro, consul for that 
year, “ undertook the despicable part of public prose- 
cutor.”.f 

So when Nero and Agrippina were denounced to the 
senate as enemies to the state, a leader soon appeared 
who initiated the business, so that the enemies of Tibe¬ 
rius might be condemned in due form. It would not 


* Xac. An. book vi. See. 25. t IbW. b. iv. 0 . 17. 


1 




258 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


answer if the forms of justice were not strictly obser¬ 
ved. Men of birth and standing were always found, 
who, insensible to shame and disgrace, were ever rea¬ 
dy to offer themselves as the minions and tools of the 
emperor. They little minded the disgrace, or even in. 
famv of an act, if it would but tend to their advantage, 
and secure the favor of the emperor. Office and emol¬ 
ument, and the favor of Tiberius, or even of Sejanus, in 
the day of his power, outweighed every other consider¬ 
ation. So low can man creep when the nobility of na¬ 
ture is gone; and every noble sentiment is lost in servile 
fear, or the mos-t intense selfishness. Yet as a reward 
for all his devotion to the prince, and as showing how 
it was estimated by Tiberius, he wished, as we have 
seen, to immolate the greater part of the senate at his 
funeral pyre. Tiberius did not lack discrimination; he 
was no fool; and he estimated at its just value the zeal 
and devotion of the conscript fathers. 

There is a most melancholy instance of the cringing 
servility of senators, and of the infamous depths to 
which they would descend, in the case of that unfortu¬ 
nate man, “ Titus Sabinus, a Roman knight of high dis¬ 
tinction.” Four men of senatorial rank, and aspiring 
to the consulship, conspired together to entrap Sa¬ 
binus in his talk, so as to be able to present to the 
emperor in form an accusation against him. One of the 
number, Latinius Latiaris, who had some connection 
with Sabinus, pretending to fraternize with him in his 
griefs and grievances, induced him to converse freely 
of the pride, arrogance, and daring ambition of the min¬ 
ister ; the emperor himself did hot escape. Latiaris, 


SERVILITY OF THE ROMAN SENATE. 


259 


\ 


dissembling, pretended to feel as Sabinus did, and to 
participate in his sentiments; sharers of a common 
grief, a close friendship was formed between the two. 
Availing himself of their friendship, Latiaris invited 
Sabinus into a house where his three confederates 
were concealed, prepared to overhear what might be 
said at the interview, and to report to the emperor. Ac¬ 
cordingly Latiaris introduced Sabinus into a particular 
room in the house, where, he artfully said, they might 
converse unheard, and free from interruption. In a 
cavity between the roof of the house and the ceiling of 
the room, “ three Roman senators,” says Tacitus, “ lay 
concealed, their ears applied to chinks and crevices, 
listening to conversation, and by fraud collecting evi¬ 
dence.”* Latiaris was to draw out Sabinus to discourse 
freely of his grievances, of Sejanus, of Tiberius, and of 
the many evils of the existing government, and so fur¬ 
nish for the use of the four conspirators materials for 
an accusation in due form. The plot succeeded ; the 
unfortunate Roman knight was betrayed by one whom 
he regarded as a bosom friend. An accusation was 
made out and sent to the emperor, with a memorial, “ to 
their own disgrace and infamy, setting forth the whole 
of their conduct.” 

On the first day of the new year, [a. d. 28 .] Sabinus, 
in a letter of the emperor, was denounced to the senate 
in language most severe and peremptory; and this body, 
almost without a moment’s hesitation, condemned him 
to death. “ His steady attachment to the house of 


* Tao. An. book iv. eec. 69. 



260 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Germanicus,” says Tacitus, “was his only crime.” Sa- 
binus was seized without delay, and, though it was a 
day dedicated to religious worship, muffled in his robe, 
his voice almost stilled,—he was dragged through the 
streets to immediate execution.* 

The whole city was struck with consternation. Who 
was safe if such men, so high in station, aspiring even to 
the consulship, could descend to such low arts, to prac¬ 
tices so vile and debasing, and then publish them abroad 
to the world. We need not wonder, after such an in¬ 
stance as the above, in which by their act the entire 
body concurred; that as Tiberius grew more cruel, and 
incessantly demanded new victims, the senate, trem¬ 
bling with fear, was ever ready to gratify his demands. 
We have seen how knights and senators cringed to Se- 
janus, we see them now crouch as whipped dogs, at the 
feet of the emperor; and we may well conclude that the 
majesty of Rome has departed; and the days of its 
strength are over. The period of its slow but sure de¬ 
cay is begun. 


* Tftc. An. book iv. aeo. 70. 



DECADENCE OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. 


261 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DECADENCE OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. 

“ But when Tiberius succeeded, who had more of the beast in him than 
the man, and governed for the most part without reason or justice, by a 
most barbarous and cruel will and pleasure, the clay began to moulder, and 
the foundations of this kingdohx to grow weak and decay.”—Prid. Con. 

The eye must contemplate with pleasure the rise of 
that new monarchy, which, as a stone cut out of the 
mountain without hands, is yet to fill the whole earth. 
It is to take the circuit of the globe : and be established 
on the ruins of earthly monarchies. The heart cannot 
hut swell with hope at the prospect yet to be realized, 
of a kingdom to be established on a basis of righteous¬ 
ness, with the Lord of heaven and earth as its acknow¬ 
ledged, if not visible head. This accords with the sub¬ 
lime dictum of the prophet: “ And the Lord shall be 
King over all the earth : in that day there shall be one 
Lord and his name one.”* 

The foreshadowing of this kingdom are seen in the 
dawn of time; they form the subject of prophecy from 
the beginning. The human heart is inspired with hope 
for the future of our world from this source alone. 
This is the polar star of night. Voices from every part 
of the earth conspire with this sound, from heathen 
temples as well as from Christian altars. 


* Zech. xiv. 9. 








262 


HEROD ANT1PAS. 


We are apt to think of prophecy as for the most part 
fulfilled; and we cast our eye backward, as if to find 
in the desolation of cities, and the overthrow of nations, 
the memorials of the art divine. The ruins of Babylon 
and Nineveh, the overthrow of Tyre, the condition of 
Egypt, fallen from its high estate, the desolations of 
Idumea, these wrecks of the past, fill the eye and en¬ 
gage the attention ; they confirm the sure word of pro¬ 
phecy ; but they constitute a small part of the prophetic 
page. The prophecies remaining to be fulfilled, are far 
grander in proportion and greater in significance, than 
those already accomplished. They stretch out in bold 
perspective: they include immense results; they an¬ 
nounce a change in dynasties, more universal and tho¬ 
rough, more radical and lasting than the world has yet 
seen. The governmental changes in our world which 
have already taken place, are but preparatory to that 
general upheaving of the earth, and of worldly policy, 
which will precede, accompany, and perfect God’s plan 
for the regeneration of our earth, and the establishment 
of his kingdom in our world. 

It is glorious to think that we are permitted to look 
forward to the full and complete accomplishment of pro¬ 
phecy. The skein has but begun to be unravelled; it is 
well that it is so. Who will now be able to say with 
Porphyry, that the books were written after the events 
had transpired. In respect to the fulfilment of pro¬ 
phecies relating to coming events, the greatest the 
world has yet seen, it will be vain to resort to this 
commonplace subterfuge. Beside the events yet to 
to take place, and which form the chief subject of pro- 


DECADENCE OF TH ROMAN EMPIRE. 


263 


phecy, will change the face of the whole world. They 
will be patent to all; open to all. No eye but will see, 
must see ; and God’s word will be established as the sun 
in the heavens. 

It is an infirmity of most minds, that they are always 
looking back on the past, as if the days then were bet¬ 
ter than these, or else brooding sadly over the darkness 
of the present hours, the gloom of time. We should 
take our stand on the mount of vision; and, with Isaiah, 
see and paint, the glory which is to come. This is faith, 
the faith of antiquity. This is the faith of all the holy 
prophets; the transporting view which opened up to 
their sight as the vail was withdrawn, and the specta¬ 
cle of a redeemed earth rose upward as from chaos,— 
the waters retired, and the tabernacle of God was 
among men. This desired consummation they never 
forget; their faith never lets go its hold. This was the 
joy set before them through all the varying scenes of 
life; and amply repaid them for all they suffered or 
relinquished. 

All this future is connected with that epoch which 
in the course of this work we have now reached. The 
point of decay in the Roman empire, was the time fixed 
for the first establishment of the kingdom of Christ; 
or the fifth universal monarchy. “ And therefore the 
strength of the Roman empire beginning to decay in 
the reign of Tiberius, then accordingly commenced the 
beginning of the kingdom of the Messiah here upon the 
earth.” 

The particular point of time, “ the decay of the 
kingdom of the Romans,” as marking the precise period 


264 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


when “the kingdom of the Messiah should commence,” 
is thus expressed : * 

“And whereas thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay, 
they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men : but 
they shall not cleave one to another, even as iron is not 
mixed with clay.”t At this juncture, so critical, so im¬ 
portant, rendered so by such a concurrence of events, 
“ the God of heaven should set up a kingdom which 
shall never be destroyed: and the kingdom shall not be 
left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and 
consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand for¬ 
ever.” $ 

The beginning of the decay of the Roman empire, 
under Tiberius, is a prophetic period, and marks the 
rise of the kingdom of God. To this we should now 
chiefly look, to this direct our attention. The Roman 
empire was the most powerful the world ever yet saw; 
it lasted longer than any other. The Persian empire 
was of short duration; the Macedonian rule, under 
Alexander, still shorter; even the Chaldean monarchy 
so proud, so magnificent, sparkling like the morning, 
vanished soon away as smoke, or as the sun’s rays on 
the horizon,—but the Roman republic, as it rose by 
slow degrees, so it endured the longest of all. It was 
also the strongest empire. In this particular it an¬ 
swered exactly the voice of prophecy. As it was the 


* Prid. Con. We do not say with Prideaux, “ the kingdom of the Mes¬ 
siah, in the erection of his church here upon the earth.” The church pro¬ 
per does not constitute the kingdom of the Messiah,—much less the Gentile 
church apart from that of the Jewish. 


f Dan. ii 43. 


J Ibid. viii. 44. 




DECADENCE OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. 


265 


strongest of the four universal empires, it was to be the 
last of its kind. There were to rise on earth, as from 
the sea, four general empires ; this number could not be 
exceeded—it could not be lessened. Just four, and no 
more. And what answer does history give to this state¬ 
ment ? Is it not confirmatory of it ? But the same 
world-wide prophecy that spoke of the four, has spoken 
also of the kingdom of God on the earth: and whose 
rise w’as fixed at the very point of time when the Ro¬ 
man empire should begin to decay. 

Four great empires have arisen which have covered 
the earth with desolation and blood. They have been 
as scourges in the hand of God to afflict the nations for 
their wickedness : even his favored people have felt 
the rod of his anger in the hands of these mighty ones : 
when their work w T as accomplished they passed away. 
A fifth empire is yet to arise, beneficent in its rule ; 
and to be established by God himself. Of this it is 
said, in terms express and clear: 

“ Of the increase of his government and peace there 
shall be no end, upon the throne of David and upon his 
kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment 
and with justice from henceforth even forever. The 
zeal of the Lord of hosts shall perform this.”* 




* Isaiah ix. 7. 





266 


HEROD ANTIPAS 



CHAPTER I. 

TETRARCHY OF HEROD PHILIP. 

[a. D. 62.] 

Part of the tetrarchy of Philip was situated about 
the sources of the Jordan; where this river of sweet 
waters takes its rise. Part also was on the eastern 
side of the lake,—how far towards the Haouran we do 
not know; on the south the tetrarchy of Philip reached, 
we suppose, as far the city of Pella, where it came in 
contact with the northern line of the Peraea, belono-in^ 
to his brother, Herod Antipas. Beautiful is the coun¬ 
try, a fair and fertile plain on both sides of the river of 
upper Jordan ; roses bloom, and trees adorn the river 
side.* The capital of Philip was situated at the foun¬ 
tains of Jordan; this he had enlarged and embellished; 
and had changed its name from Paneas to Cesarea in 
honor of the reigning Csesar. He had also enlarged 

o o o 

and embellished Bethsaida,t near where the waters of 


* Irby and Mangles, p. 2S6—291. 
f Joseph. Antiq. book xviii. sec. 1. 








TETRARCHY OF HEROD PHILIP. 


267 


tlie river empty into the lake of Galilee. This city he 
had called Julias, after Julia, the unhappy daughter of 
' of the emperor Augustus. 

It was pleasing to see this man, occupying an import¬ 
ant position, and governing a considerable locality, ruling 
justly, and chiefly concerned in the good of his subjects. 
He resided constantly among them; he went from place 
to place administering justice, accompanied by a few 
friends. If in any place a complaint was brought, it 
was instantly attended to; “his tribunal, on which he 
sat in judgment, was set down immediately;” he heard 
and decided the case, the guilty were punished, and 
those that had been accused unjustly, were absolved. 
His wh<*e government was wise, moderate and humane. 
He did not ignore, or violate the law of Moses, in mar¬ 
riage. 

He was content to live at home with the wife he had 
chosen, finding his happiness in the discharge of his du¬ 
ties, and in the relation of husband, brother, and friend. 
Such was the confidence that Archelaus reposed in his 
brother, Herod Philip, that when he first went to Rome, 
after the death of his father, to obtain the confirmation 
of the kingdom by Caesar Augustus, he left his brother 
Philip in charge of his affairs at Jerusalem. Archelaus 
was not afraid to entrust Philip with the government of 
Judea during his absence ; and this at a most critical 
conjuncture. The whole life of Philip was of a piece 
with this beodnnin£ ; he was faithful to Archelaus; and 
when entrusted with the government of Trachonitis, 
Gaulanitis, and of the nation of the Bataneans also, as 
his particular share of his father’s dominions, he was 


268 


IIEROD ANTI PAS. 


found worthy of the trust. We hear of no discord in 
his principality; of no acts of cruelty, rapine, or re¬ 
venue. He a was a beneficent as well as wise ruler. 
For the period of thirty-seven years he reigned; honor¬ 
ed and loved; and when he died, was buried in a monu¬ 
ment which he had built at Paneas. Ilis obsequies 
w'ere performed with great pomp. Philip left no sons; 
Tiberius therefore took his principality, and annexed it 
to the province of Syria. His death preceded that of 
Tiberius a little over two years.* 


CHAPTER II. 

SCENE OF THE LOAVES AND FISHES, IN THE TETRARCHY 

OF HEROD PHILIP. 

Philip was living when there occurred within his 
toparchy a scene of the greatest possible . interest. It 
took place not very far from Bethsaida, “ situate at 
the lake of Gennesareth ;” which from a village had, 
at this time, been advanced to the dignity of a city, f 
All was tranquil in this region. There was no wdcked 
ruler to fear. At some considerable distance from the 
city of Bethsaida, somewhat remote, also, from villages 
and towns that then so thickly studded the country, was 


* Joseph. Antiq. book xviii. c. iv. sec. 6. 


t Ibid. chap. ii. sec. 1. 





SCENE OF THE LOAVES AND FISHES. 


269 


a solitary spot, where shepherds fed their docks, and 
cattle were pastured. How near it was to the Jordan 
we do not know ; it was probably watered by some of 
the numerous tributary streams which flow in that re¬ 
gion.* 

It was a still country scene. The air was soft, 
the morning serene. The Jordan flowed not far off; 
there, also, at no great distance, reposing in its beauty, 
and reflecting the mountains on either side, was the 
lake of Galilee. At the point where the Jordan passed 
into the lake, w T as the vessel, drawn upon the shore^ 
which had brought Jesus and his disciples. Soon nu¬ 
merous vessels were drawn up alongside of this ; for 
the people knew of the departure of Jesus from Caper¬ 
naum, and had quickly followed. In the early morning 
many a vessel, filled with men, women, and children, 
w'as afloat; the sea was alive with every variety of 
craft; and the greatest anxiety was manifested not to 
lose sight of the Master. And shall we wonder that 
children eagerly followed Jesus also ? Was he not the 
friend of little children ? Did he not take them in his 
arms and bless them? Was he ever known to spurn 
a child from his presence ? He looked upon them with 
ineffable pity and with love; he spoke to them in 
accents of tenderness. His engaging smile won their 
youthful, loving hearts. While the boats sailed gaily 
over the sea, propelled by the oar, or wafted by the 
early morning breeze, many ran swiftly on foot,—all 
eager to follow Jesus. They did not take into consid- 


♦ Irby and Mangles, p. 286-*291. 



270 


I 


HEROD ANTTPAS. 


eration distance, time, or trouble. When does love 
think of the cost ? 

There was a large, watered plain; and, not far from 
the plain a mountain. The plain was richly covered 
with grass ; while in the distance could be seen fields 
of waving grain. Droves of cattle were feeding on the 
grass, and large flocks of sheep. The shepherd, with 
his crook and well known voice, led his flock from place 
to place; in their innocent simplicity they followed. 
Flowers bedecked the plain along with the grass ; and 
the bee, humming as he went, drew his waxen store 
from each opening flower. Men’s minds were in tune 
with the scene ; and even the sick revived, fed not only 
with the morning air, but with the knowledge that they 
would be healed by Jesus. 

How different this scene from that which each day 
witnessed on the island of Caprese. There, between the 
high mountains on the east and west end, was a sylvan 
spot, adorned with every variety of fruit tree ; blooming ' 
also, with grain, and shut in from the world. Yet what 
bosom but must palpitate with fear—even under the 
shade of these spreading trees, and in this retired spot 
—from the presence of the imperial tyrant; whose con- 
tracted brow, whose frown, like a thick cloud, darkens 
joy wherever he comes. In the distance, as he is seen, 
walking slowly along, meditating cruelty,—what heart 
is moved to love ? What child runs to share his em¬ 
brace, or catch his smile ? Even his grandson, Caius, 
does little else but study not to offend by word, look, or 
gesture, lest the fate of his two brothers should be his 
fate. All is dark and cheerless on the island; fear, 


271 


% 


SCENE OF THE LOAVES AND FISHES. 

distrust, suspicion, fill every breast. The island is 
haunted by a fearful presence. The south-west wind is 
pleasant there in summer—but in vain it blows softly: 
the flowers bloom, and shed their fragrance in vain— 
for dread and tormenting fear have made the perturbed 
bosom insensible to joy—to the joy of winds, weaves, 
smiling earth and serene sky. 

Turning away from Tiberius and his island, we re¬ 
turn to the country spot along the banks, or not very 
far from the banks of the upper Jordan, but a few miles 
from the source of that sacred stream. The day is pass¬ 
ing away; the sweet and happy day; one of the days of 
the Son of man. 

It is not for us particularly to dwell on the scene; 
it has been so often drawn both by pen and pencil,— 
the feeding of five thousand men, besides women and 
children, with five loaves of barley bread, and two 
small fishes, taken probably that day out of the neigh¬ 
boring lake. Leaving these details, we refer to the ef¬ 
fect of the miracle,—a serious attempt on the part of 
the people to make Jesus King. This will form the 
theme of the following chapter. 




4 


272 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE ATTEMPT TO MAKE JESUS ASSUME THE TITLE OP 
THE KING OF THE JEWS. 

Filled with wonder, overpowered with awe, (had not 
God appeared upon the scene?) the people said, one to 
another, in words scarcely spoken above the breath— 
“ This is of a truth that prophet that should come into 
the world. ” * The vast multitude of hardy men were 
mostly Galileans, a bold and enterprising people. Je¬ 
sus was, at this time, in the zenith of his fame; these 
Galileans had witnessed his wonders in Jerusalem; 
they had seen him doing the same works (works which 
only God could do, or those who were authorized by 
him) in Galilee, and now they see one of so marvellous 
a character, that transported with joy, they can afford to 
delay no longer ; but whether he will comply or not, 
they resolve to make him king; to constitute Jesus 
their leader and captain; their Moses to effect their de¬ 
liverance from the Romans, and to organize the nation 
on a new basis. 

And were these people—these hardy Galileans—so 
far wrong, after all ? When his miraculous conception 
and birth were announced to his virgin mother, by an 
angel, was it not said that God would give him the 
throne of his father David ; that he should reign over 


* John vi. 14. 



ATTEMPT TO MAKE JESUS KING. 


273 


the house of Jacob; and that of his kingdom there 
should be no end? The words are as express as they 
can be: God is to give to him the throne of his father 
David. As David sat on that throne—so is the son of 
David to ascend it also, and to rule with great power. 
If these words, in the mouth of an angel of God, mean 
anything, they mean just what they say. Of what use 
are words, if, because they are found in a particular 
book, and do not convey the sense you desire, you can 
affix to them almost any meaning you please. In this 
way the plain text of Scripture is distorted, (who would 
deal so with any other book ?) and its harmony des¬ 
troyed. The grand, uniform design of God, in making his 
ancient people the conservators and restorers of our 
world, is to a very great extent lost sight of by a mode 
of interpretation built upon men’s fancies, not upon the 
express declarations of the written word. 

When the Magi came from the East, and thrilled Je¬ 
rusalem with the query, “Where is he that is born King 
of the Jews?” did they not expect to find the heir of 
the Jewish empire? Did they not speak of him as one 
who was born King of the Jews? Was not this his 
rightful title? Might he not claim it in virtue of his 
kingly descent ? His genealogical table—does it not 
trace back his descent, in a direct line to David ? And 
is it not the design of that table to establish the great 
fact that Jesus is the Son of David; and as such enti¬ 
tled to ascend the throne, with all regal honors, of his 
father David. Or will you allegorize, or spiritualize 
the words, so that they shall not mean what they say 
literally at all? 


274 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


But mark further what the Magi say; “We have seen 
his star in the east, and are come to worship him.” To 
render homage to Him as king; not only as king of the 
Jews, but as King of kings, and Lord of lords; for Jesus 
sustains both these titles: as the Son of David, he is 
King of the Jews, and as David’s Lord, he is the King 
of kings. Did not the Magi understand that the star 
which they saw first in their own land, presaged the 
birth of the King of the Jews? The star was God’s 
herald of the birth of Jesus ; and by a divine revelation 
he announced this to the Magi, either by a dream, or by 
an angel, or by a voice from heaven. They were divine¬ 
ly taught as well as divinely led. Long before had the 
voice of prophecy announced that the birth of the future 
King of the Jews should be signalized by a star. When 
then, it appeared in the far east, and God explained 
to his chosen messengers whose birth it inaugurated, no 
doubt dwelt in their minds—there was no cloud in their 
sky. And, consequently, when they reached Jerusalem 
they asked with undoubting faith, and without any fear 
of Herod—so jealous of an aspirant to the throne— 
“Where is he that is born king of the Jews? for we 
have seen his star in the east, and we are come to wor¬ 
ship him.” Without worldly policy, and free from fear, 
they boldly, but with the simplicity of children, ask the 
question. They had not the fear of man, but of God, 
before their eves. Ilerod on his throne gave rise to no 
question of expediency in their minds. They had a 
great errand to do; and this they did, though they in¬ 
curred no small risk, and would surely have perished, 
had it not been for Divine interposition. 


ATTEMPT TO MAKE JESUS KING. 


275 


These sages -who came to Jerusalem, led by a divine 
hand, we may readily believe were true interpreters of 
Jewish prophecy; and it is clear that they looked for 
and expected to find what their words declare, really 
and truly, the king of the Jews. Thus they address¬ 
ed him; and thus paid to the new born child, royal 
homage. 

When a council was called, by order of the king, of 
men expert in Jewish law, the inquiry proceeded on 
the grounds that prophecy authorised the expectations, 
The inquiry was a simple one. It was not a question as 
to whether such a personage was predicted; this ques¬ 
tion was not even raised. That was a point settled. 
The question was, where is he to be born? What do 
the sacred books say as to the place of his birth ? The 
answer to this was easy. Many centuries before the 
* event, the prophet Micah had said, the promised King 
of the Jews would be born at Bethlehem. The place of 
his birth corresponded with his lineage; as he was to 
proceed from David, so he would be born on the spot— 
within the bounds of the domain where Jesse lived— 
where David kept his father’s sheep ; and whence step 
by step, he rose to the throne. 

Here, then, are these interpreters, like the inspired 
Magi, fully possessed with the grand idea that their 
coming Messiah was to be King of the Jews ;—that the 
titles -were synonymous. Had they made a mistake? 
Was it a misnomer? How often is the Messiah spoken 
of by the prophets as King of Israel. By this title do 
they foreshadow his great dignity; and consequently it 
was not a vague title—but clear, explicit, definite. 


27ft 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


Otherwise it would greatly mislead; and the result 
would be bad. 

At last the Magi find the child. What then? They 
pay him the homage of a king; and, according to the 
custom of the East in approaching monarchs, they pre¬ 
sent the new-born King of the Jew T s princely gifts. 
Their joy was beyond expression; but it was the joy 
of faith. In other words it was the joy of all the holy 
prophets who had written of this event. It was a joy 
built on the same foundation as theirs; seeing, as they 
did, that through this King, and through him alone, 
salvation would come to our world. It could come 
through no other source. The Magi, inspired by the 
same spirit as prophets and patriarchs, saw this also: 
and in the King whom they worshipped, and at whose 
feet they laid their gifts, they saw the accomplishment 
of all that the prophets had written. He was no ordi¬ 
nary king in their eyes; they had no low, carnal views 
of his kingdom; it was not a picture of worldly glory 
and power which they drew: still they saw a real, ac¬ 
tual kingdom in the far distance, built on a new basis, 
that of the resurrection of tho “Prince of the kings of 
the earth” from the dead. 

Not at once would this child ascend the throne; he 
must pass through death to attain a seat so high ; and 
establish a kingdom which would endure forever. 

We must not suppose that the men who undertook 
to make Jesus king on the present occasion, were in¬ 
spired with the same views as the Magi. The Magi, 
as competent witnesses of the birth of Christ, were 
extraordinarily illuminated; they were filled with the 


ATTEMPT TO MAKE JESUS KING. 


277 


spirit; but these people of whom we speak bad no 
other than carnal views of Christ and his kingdom. 
They took their model of a kingdom from that of the 
Roman empire; they wished to overturn the nations 
by the mere might of an irresistible arm, that as a 
nation the Jews might rise to the first place. This was 
the height of their ambition; and shows clearly that 
they understood not the words of the prophets, as they 
were read every Sabbath day in the synagogue. Had 
they understood their own writings, they would have 
seen that Jesus must suffer before he could ascend 
the throne of his father David. They would not have 
been in such haste, they would patiently have waited 
until the right time arrived. But they were carried 
away by the miracle of the loaves and fishes; and ima¬ 
gined that one who possessed such power on the earth 
could easily subdue the nations, and reap for the Jewish 
people the highest earthly renown. But Jesus took 
himself from them, and departed alone, directing his 
disciples to return without him, and saying that he 
would join them in due season. They obeyed; and as 
the people saw them embark without Jesits, they wait¬ 
ed all night in the expectation of seeing him the next 
morning, and carrying out their selfish views. 



278 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

JESUS IN THE MOUNTAIN AND ON THE SEA. 

The hours of the night passed on, one by one. Jesus 
was in a mountain alone. We may imagine his prayer. 
It was “ Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as 
it is in heaven.” This was the work he came to do; 
this was his father’s business which he was to perform, 
as he said to his parents in the temple, in the presence 
of the doctors. He never lost sight of this. Prophecy 
had said—“He must see his seed; and the pleasure of 
the Lord must prosper in his hand.” God had said 
to Moses—“ But as truly as I live, all the earth shall be 
filled with the glory of the Lord.” The prophet Isaiah 
had said, “ The glory of the Lord shall be revealed and 
all fiesh shall see it together. ” This was the end which 
was to be gained, and for this in the lonely mountain he 
prayed,—pouring forth strong cries in the anguish of his 
spirit. 

He shall see “ the travail of his soul ”—saith the pro* 
phet. What Jesus underwent in secret who can tell? 
what groans, lamentations, and tears. How he wept, 
how he sighed. Thus was it on this mountain. He had 
seen little to encourage him in the disposition of the 
people that day; they were still carnal; and were de¬ 
ceived by Satan. The wonderful work which he had 


JESUS IN THE MOUNTAIN AND ON THE SEA. 279 

performed, had given them no true knowledge of his 
character, or the nature of his sublime mission. They 
did not rise to the high and mysterious idea—the spirit¬ 
ual conception—of a world redeemed from Satan by the 
death of Christ; by his resurrection from the dead. They 
did not see how death must necessarily be destroyed in 
the nature which had sinned, so that the law of God 
might be fully vindicated, and the name of God be glo¬ 
rified. This was hid from them; they were not in har¬ 
mony with the holy prophets; with the spirit and true 
import of their writings. This is what Jesus deplored, 
that they were still so much under the influence of a 
worldly spirit, and so far from the way of righteousness. 

The people for the most part slept; some had gone; 
others had remained ; their minds were filled with the 
hope of triumph through Jesus. It may be that some 
-waked and talked, long after the great body had fallen 
asleep. At length all slept, and deep silence reigned 
around. In the fourth watch Jesus came down from 
the mountain, and walked forth upon the sea; the sea 
was to him the same as dry ground. The yielding 
waves, owning the presence of Him who made them, 
formed a solid path over their wild, heaving surface. 
Loudly blew the wind ; boisterous rose the waves. The 
night was dark. Since the day closed the wind had 
arisen; it did not abate : it blew stronger and stronger ; 
louder and louder. Hour after hour passed away, and 
still the waves rose high, and the wind blew loud. It 
rushed along the sea; the waves dashed heavily against 
the shore and the mountain sides. The disciples who 
had embarked made but little headway against the stiff 


280 


HEROD ANT1PAS. 


gale, and the rolling waves. What were the thoughts 
that engrossed their minds ? They thought of what 
they had seen that day; and they recalled other won¬ 
derful works that Jesus had done. Their faith was 
strengthened; every succeeding display of his power 
tended to increase their faith, and make them stronger 
in the Lord. They needed all the aid they received— 
so little did the mission of Jesus accord with man’s 
thoughts or actions. 

Suddenly they see, walking on the sea, the form of a 
man. They suppose that they behold a spirit, and cry 
out in alarm. Jesus says unto them, “It is I; be not 
afraid.” How simple the Avords ! Hoav assuring the 
language! It is the voice of a friend; this is the voice 
which they hear; the Avell-knoAvn voice of Jesus. Are 
these simple, encouraging words, uttered at such a time 
—in the midst of a scene almost beyond the imagina¬ 
tion to conceive—the Avords of an impostor, a deceiver 
of the people ? We think not. What is there of boast 
in them—of exaggeration? Could they be simpler? 
Yet had man ever seen anything like this before ? 
Were they mistaken? They Avere several miles from 
the shore. Moreover, Jesus steps on board ; and they 
see and touch him, as they did after his resurrection. 
The power that broke the grave, enabled Jesus to 
walk on the sea Avhen agitated with all the furv of 
a tempest; and the Avitnesses Avere the same in both 
cases. You must either receive their testimony, or 
give up both these great facts as the’wildest dreams 
of an exuberant fancy. Shall Ave do this, and let go 
the hope and anchor of the human soul? Oh, God! 


THE LIVING BREAD. 


281 


what are we without these facts ? And where are we ? 
On what an ocean tost—on what wildly heaving bil¬ 
lows! Is there any rest for the soul apart from Jesus 
and the doctrine of the resurrection ? None whatever. 
Tears course down our cheeks forever apart from this ; 
our mourning continues ; our hearts are oppressed ; a 
strange melancholy seizes the soul; dark visions flit as 
spectres before the eye; we are shrouded in darkness. 
But Jesus walking on the sea—rising from the dead— 
ascending into heaven—remaining there for a time— 
and then returning to our earth to sit upon the throne 
of David, and to introduce an age of pe.ace, and to es¬ 
tablish universal righteousness—renews hope in the 
bosom where it had nearly expired, lifts from the 
heart an almost insupportable load, and gives us eternal 
life already here on the earth. 


CHAPTER V. 

JESUS THE LIVING BREAD. 

Miracles ! what of them ? We do not mean to de¬ 
preciate miracles. We do not mean to rule them out 
because they are not conformable to everyday experi¬ 
ence. We receive them as we do any other fact—on 
good evidence. We are bound to do so. We do not 
exclude God from the government of his own world; 
he is not governed by any necessity not occasionally to 



282 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


intermit his own laws, or to depart from one uniform 
course of proceeding. We know that he does occasion¬ 
ally depart from established laws; as witness the divi¬ 
ding of the Red Sea, the miraculous character of which 

o 

is attested by the manner in which it is always spoken 
of in Hebrew poetry, as well as from the narrative of 
the event itself. Every poetical reference speaks of it 
in the highest strain, as a most remarkable display of the 
power of God—as something altogether out of the com¬ 
mon way—and designed to show his especial care over 
his chosen people. We adore God for these interposi¬ 
tions in behalf of his chosen people; from them we 
learn the greatest of all lessons—to trust in God. 

But why need we revert to miracles? We have a 
living, everyday miracle, fully as remarkable, and as 
self-evident as the manna which fell in the wilderness. 
In itself that was typical of the bread which was to 
come down from heaven. It did but shadow forth the 
living bread of which we speak. Jesus proposes him¬ 
self as this bread: “ I am the bread of life/’ The Jews 
wanted a sign of the mission of our Lord, different from 
any which he had yet given ; they were not satisfied 
with the proof which they had already received. The 
reason was their hearts were carnal, sold under sin. To 
meet their demand he calls himself the “ bread of life,’’ 
“ The living bread which cometh down from heaven.” 

Here is an appeal to every man; one that comes 
home directly to his own bosom. It is testimony that 
cannot be evaded by sophistry; by the art or ingenuity 
of man; any more than the sensation of pain or plea¬ 
sure can be evaded. It speaks for itself. It descends 


THE LIVING BREAD. 


283 


to the lowest depths of man’s nature, and speaks back 
in language that cannot be misunderstood. You wish 
to know if Jesus is God; if the Bible is true; you 
draw water from the well of salvation; that is you be¬ 
lieve according to the testimony of Scripture, that Je¬ 
sus is the Son of God, and you have in yourself the 
evidence of the fact. What is it that so nourishes my 
soul but feeding on the true bread, and believing the 
record that God hath given of his Son Jesus Christ. 
This is bread; this is life. This is a daily miracle. 
The manna falls before the door of your tent, not only 
in the morning, but in the evening. It is pure, sweet, 
and white; never was anything so delicious. 

Sweet is the breath of early morning; balmy the soft 
winds; clear and serene the opening day. Night re¬ 
tires ; he folds his wing; he walks over the misty 
mountain-top, and is hid in caves, in dark recesses, while 
day opens sweetly on the eye. With majestic step the 
hours advance; and each hour unfolds some new beauty 
—some new source of joy, or thought, or hope. The 
heart exults, it bounds at what it sees, feels, anl ex¬ 
plores. But what is opening day, with all it? early 
charms and freshness, to that new life, that hidden life, 
that divine exhilaration of the soul, which is neither 
more nor less than the life of God breathed into the 
spirit ? It may well be called a new life. It draws its 
resources from within; the fountain, the well is within. 
This fountain, this well, is Jesus in the soul. Every 
tendril may be cut that feeds the soul from the f-arth, 
and yet it lives; lives as it never did before. It is an 
oasis in a desert, smiling amid the barrenness. 





. .. 9 

284 HEROD ANTTPAS. 

The soul, fed from within, is not afraid of night; as 
day retires it welcomes the friendly darkness, that as a 
garment hides from the glare ; and night-voices are 
heard, and sister spirits—angels clad in light—whisper¬ 
ing words of cheer, and raising up the drooping soul. 
It walks along a hidden path with angels as its attend¬ 
ants. All the thoughts are pure ; hence the light that 
streams along the hidden path. It is not solitary as it 
seems to be ; unseen visitants walk along that silent, 
narrow path; and the soul is ravished with pure delight. 
When sleep comes it is so soft and sweet; and the heart 
reposes on God. How great is its rest. The night 
wind blows softly without: the waves dash gently on 
the shore ; and the music of wind and wave is in har¬ 
mony with the soul within; and all contribute to its 
inward peace and sweeter rest. Rest, sleeper, rest;— 
thy God is near,—the God of the winds and waves; 
and hallow thou his name while he giveth his beloved 
sleep. 

We need not be afraid of the terms of endearment tha t 
are found in the Bible. They flow from the fountain of 
purity; they pamper no vitiated appetite. They are the 
language of pure love ; and answering chords are found 
in every heart, touched by the love that comes from 
heaven, the divine life from above. Whoever leans on 
the word of God, feeds on God. It is the word that is 
the bread of life; and as the bread which we eat nour¬ 
ishes the body, so the living word (which is God) nour¬ 
ishes the soul; and makes it one with God. The union 
is divine ; and it is real and actual as it is divine. Mar¬ 
riage is an emblem of this mysterious, hallowed union; 


THE LIVING BREAD. 


285 


that is marriage in its true sense, as originating with, 
and proceeding from God. Thus is the soul blended 
with God; and is in a mystical sense some part of 
God. 

Hence it lives on God; or, with God; and has joys 
like God, superior far to any that proceed from the earth, 
or from our animal or sensual nature. Here is the 
source, the origin of all those endearing expressions 
which are found especially in Canticles; and these en¬ 
dearing terms, these fond, interchangeable expressions, 
between the soul and Christ, in the Song of songs, prove 
the divinity of the book, by foreshadowing the incarna¬ 
tion of God, and the union of the soul with Christ. The 
heart united closely to Christ, responds to every ten¬ 
der epithet; sees in the bridegroom Christ; and, like 
John the Baptist, finds all its joys more than fulfilled 
in a holy union with him. 

Could God say more than the man Christ Jesus, when 
he said to the Jews—even mystifying the greater part 
of them by the expression, “My flesh is meat indeed; 
and my blood is drink indeed.” Shall a man blasphe¬ 
mously use such words as these? They are not the 
words of man but of God. They are of the same import 
as those where he says, in the same express, emphatic 
manner, “ X am the fountain of living waters. In either 
case the eye is directed to the Bock that is higher than 
we all; to none other than to God. Let us then ever re¬ 
member that he that believes that Jesus is the Son o L 
God, necessarily receives that word, lives on it as on 
bread, by the exercise of a constantly appropriating faith, 






28K 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


and is in possession of a living proof or sign that the 
doctrine of Jesus is true, eternal, divine; that the doc¬ 
trine of God incarnate is “Truth.” Thus is the ques¬ 
tion of Pilate, in reference to truth, answered ; and also 
the great question of the Greek philosophers, from An¬ 
axagoras to Plato, “ What is the supreme good ?” 


Rome during the last years of tiberius. 287 




CHAPTER I. 

Rome during the last years of the reign of tiberius 

CjESAR. 

[a. D. 32, 33, 34.] 

Cneius Domitius was one of the consuls for the year 
thirty-two. He married some four years before Agrip¬ 
pina, one of the daughters of Germanicus. “ Tiberius 
gave her away in person, but ordered the nuptial cere¬ 
mony to be performed at Rome.”* Domitius was the 
grandson of Octavia, sister of Augustus; his father 
was one of the conspirators against Julius Caesar. 
From this marriage came Nero, the sixth Roman em¬ 
peror. He was not born at this time; not until the 
year of our Lord thirty-seven; the last year of the life 
of Tiberius. As one monster was going out of existence, 
in the same year another was born. Nero was born 
15th December. Inauspicious nativity! The cloud over 
Rome continued to spread; years must elapse before 
it would pass away. In the dark procession Tiberius 
was to be followed by Caligula; Caligula by Claudius, 
brother of Germanicus ; and Claudius by Lucius Domi- 


* Ad. T^c. book iv. see. 75. 






288 HEROD ANTIPAS. 

tius, (after his grandfather) Nero. In his youth he was 
called simply Domitius ; but when his mother, Agrip¬ 
pina, married Claudius, the emperor, he passed into the 
Claudian family, and took the name of Nero. When 
adopted by Claudius he was thirteen years of age. He 
was born, says Suetonius, “just as the sun arose;’* 
Cneius Domitius, one of the consuls, as we have said, 
for this present year, a. d. 32, (a year so famous in the 
annals of Judea, and in which the name of Christ was 
spread so wide and far over the land) was one-of the 
most infamous of men ; in every way infamous. Little 
had Rome to hope for from his consulship. “ His life,” 
says one, “ was a series of evil deeds.” Suetonius paints 
his picture in the blackest colors. He appeared to 
think that his wife Agrippina was as depraved as him¬ 
self; and that their offspring must be “detestable and 
pernicious to the public.” He was of an extremely 
cruel disposition. When he was in the East with Caius 
Caesar, he killed a freedman of his owrn for refusing to 
drink as much as he ordered him. In a village upon 
the Appian road, he suddenly whipped his horses and 
drove his chariot, purposely, over a poor boy, crushing 
him to death.* At Rome he struck out the eye of a Ro¬ 
man knight at the Forum, only for some free language 
in a dispute between them.t 

Such was the man who, under the emperor, occupied 


* Suet. Life of Nero, s. 5. 

+ Dickens has made use of this incident in his story of “ Two Cities,” to 
characterise the temper of certain nobles of France toward the poor just be¬ 
fore the revolution. 


Suet. Life of Nero, sec. 5. 




ROME DURING THE LAST YEARS OF TIBERIUS. 289 


the first position in Rome. His private vices were 
worse than his public crimes. Agrippina was married 
very early to this man ; and was probably inducted by 
him into a career of crime. She proved an apt scholar, 
and learned fast. She was some twenty years of age 
when Nero was born. 

Camillus Scribonius was consul along with Cneius 
Domitius iEnobarbus, to give the full name of this lat¬ 
ter. Happily nothing is said of Scribonius; and we 
may venture to augur well of him from his silence. 
But we have no reason to suppose that he, any more 
than Domitius, would oppose the will of Tiberius. Rome 
was wholly at the mercy of the emperor. Who was 
safe ? who could rest in peace ? 

If w T e cast our eye over the imperial family, how 
great was the vacancy. Nero and Drusus were gone; 
Agrippina was gone; only Caligula, of the three bro¬ 
thers, remained. There were, however, two sisters be¬ 
side Agrippina. Their names were Drusilla and Julia, 
or Livilla. These two Tiberius married in the subse¬ 
quent year, (33) ; during the consulship of Servius 
Galba and Lucius Sylla; Drusilla to Lucius Cassius 
and Julia to Marcus Yinicius. In his letters to the 
senate Tiberius made honorable mention of these young 
men.”* 

These sisters, with their brother Caligula, were 
brought up by their grandmother Antonia, that truly 
excellent woman and Roman matron.! It did not make 
them good;—the infection of the times spread to them ; 


* Tac. An. b. 6. s. 15. 


f Suet. Life of Caligula, 8. 24. 



/ 


290 HEROD ANTIPAS. 

and nothing could exceed the scenes of infamy in the 
palace after the death of Tiberius. Caligula, disregard¬ 
ing all laws human and divine, took Drusilla from her 
husband Lucius Cassius, and kept her constantly, as if 
she were his lawful wife.* Julia, or Livilla, plunged 
into every species of vice, and ended her life miserably. 

Rome seemed to be a pool of vice in which many 
were drowned, and few escaped. An infection raged 
that withered with its touch. The very beams—the raf¬ 
ters, the walls of the houses, seemed to be tainted. A 
noxious vapor floated all around ;—every breath inha¬ 
led the fatal miasm,—more poisonous than the exhala¬ 
tions of the Pontine marshes. 

About this time, (a. d. 33.) Caligula married Claudia, 
(called by Suetonius Junia Claudilla) the daughter of 
Marcus Silenus, a man of the highest rank, f At the 
time of his marriage to Claudia he was twenty-one 
years of age. Even in his youth, says Suetonius, he 
could not conceal his natural disposition to cruelty and 
lewdness. He delighted in witnessing the infliction of 
punishments, and frequented taverns and other places 
of evil resort, disguised in a periwig and long coat; 
and was passionately addicted to the theatrical arts of 
singing and dancingj Part of his time he spent in 
Rome, and part in Capreae with his grandfather. “ He 
studied,” says Tacitus, “ the humors of Tiberius; he 
watched the whim of the day, and set his features ac¬ 
cordingly ; he was in dress and language the image of his 


* Suet. Life of Calig. sec. 24. f Ibid. sec. 12. Tac. An. b. 0. s. 20. 

X Life of Calig. sec. 11. 






ROME DURING THE LAST YEARS OP TIBERIUS 291 


grandfather. Neither the condemnation of his mother, 
nor the banishment of his brother, could extort from 
him one word of compassion. This young prince had 
the art to conceal under a vail of modesty the most de¬ 
testable of human characters.”^ 

It is said that Tiberius saw through his character; 
and that he often remarked, that “ Caligula was destined 
to be the ruin of himself and of all mankind; and that 
he was rearing a hydra for the people of Rome, and a 
Phaeton for all the world.”! 

Domitius and Agrippina, Caligula, Drusilla, and Julia 
or Lavilla, in the imperial family, from their morals, 
will give some idea of Rome at this time; how far it 
was sunk in lasciviousness—steeped in crime. The 
restraints of religion had been removed; the worship of 
the gods was held in contempt; and men railed, even 
as now, at superstition and priestcraft. As if the need 
of the human heart did not call for religion; independ¬ 
ently of the perversion of religion, or of its rites, by 
those priests who should adorn it by their sanctified 
lives. 

Livy complained in his day of the decline of re¬ 
ligion, and the philosophic indifference which prevailed. 
Men were too wise to be religious ; to reverence God; 
to depend on Divine wisdom and guidance; they were 
wiser than God—stronger than God; they would take the 
reins in their own hands. Who can wonder that Rome 
was a cesspool of vice. Who has ever hardened him¬ 
self against God and prospered. The pungent spirit of 


* An. book 6. sec. 20. 


+ Life of Calig. sec. 11. 



292 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


religion is necessary to serve as a corrective and anti 
dote to vice. 

When we find in the imperial family so much vice 
among both males and females, what must we think of 
the city itself. If polluted at the fountain the streams 
will be polluted, and in the cloud of vengeance which 
hung over it, we see the “ wrath of God revealed from 
heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of 
men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness.”* 

We pass on with our detail of current events, as we 
wish to give the reader some idea of what was going 
in Rome from day to day, during the second, third, and 
last years of the ministry of Christ in Judea. Let the 
reader have both pictures in his hand at the same time; 
let him look on this and on that. 

While Tiberius disposed in marriage the two daugh¬ 
ters of Germanicus, Drusilla and Julia, or Livilla, while 
Caligula was married to Claudia, Drusus, the second 
son, still languished in confinement in the lower part of 
the palace. Death did not put an end to his sufferings- 
until a. d. 33. We have briefly referred to his death 
by starvation. It will be recollected that it was through 
the artifices of Sejanus that Drusus was declared an 
enemy to the state by the senate; but after the death 
of Sejanus Tiberius did not relent. At one time it was 
reported “that the prince was on the point of being 
reconciled to his grandson but it did not prove true. 
Like his mother Agrippina, and his brother Nero, the 
unhappy young man was subjected to the most cruel 


* Rom. chap i. ver. 18. 




ROME DURING THE LAST YEARS OF TIBERIUS. 293 

treatment in his imprisonment. He even suffered from 
the lash of the centurion who guarded him; spies were 
set to watch his looks, to listen to his words, his groans; 
a day-book was kept of all that transpired in the prison, 
and sent to Tiberius; even the ‘‘savage expressions” 
addressed to Drusus by the centurion, were recorded 
and submitted to the perusal of the emperor, who, after 
the death of Drusus, submitted the whole to the senate. 
Did he expect thereby to extenuate his crime in the eyes 
of that body ? Tow r ard the close of his life Drusus ut- 
ered the most dreadful imprecations against the empe¬ 
ror; imprecations extorted by his sufferings: “Reserve 
him,” he said, “reserve him, ye gods, for your ow r n 
just vengeance: let him fall a terrible example to the 
present age, and to all posterity.” These words were 
read, after his death, to the senate. “The fathers, 
affecting to shudder at imprecations so eager and em¬ 
phatic, interrupted .the reading; but they felt the im¬ 
pression at their hearts.” * 

Livia, the wife of Drusus, son of Tiberius, it will bo 
recollected had been put to death for her complicity in 
the murder of her husband. For eight years her crime 
was hid, and then brought to light: the discovery was 
made a. d. 31, and her death soon followed. But Tibe¬ 
rius, as if not satisfied, in the following year [a. d. 32] 
permitted the senate to “ thunder forth decrees against 
her memory, and her very statues.” At the same time 
the property of Sejanus was ordered to be removed 
from the public treasury to the coffers of the prince.t 


* Tao. An. book 6. see. 24. 


t Ibid. sec. 2. 



294 


HEROD ANTIPAS 


Amid the degeneracy of the times, the fact that the 
first men in the senate acted as informers, and took 
this infamous part, whether actuated by fear, or the 
hope of reward, stands out with great prominence. We 
have referred to this ; we speak of it again. u Some did 
it,” says Tacitus, “ without a blush, in the face of day; 
and others by clandestine artifices. The contagion was 
epidemic. Near relations, aliens in blood, friends and 
strangers, known and unknown, were, without a dis¬ 
tinction, all involved in one common danger. The fact 
recently committed, and the tale revived, were equally 
destructive. Words alone were sufficient, whether spo¬ 
ken in the forum, or amidst the pleasures of the table, 
was immaterial. Whatever the occasion or subject, 
everything was a constructive crime. Informers strug¬ 
gled, as it were in a race, who should be first to ruin 
his man ; -some to secure themselves ; the greater part 
infected by the general corruption of the times.” f 
The case of Cocceius Nerva, furnishes an instance 
of the melancholy days of Rome. He was one of the 
select few who, when Tiberius, a. d. 28, left Rome to 
return no more, accompanied him on that occasion* 
Tacitus says that “ he was the constant companion of 
the prince.”* Since then some eight years had passed. 
At the time of the departure from Rome no one w^as so 
high in the favor of Tiberius as Sejanus ; but two years 
had already passed since his fall;—the emperor had 
grown more cruel and capricious ever since. Each day 
the horizon grew darker ; and none could tell upon 
whom the anger of the emperor next might fall. Be¬ 
side, to a good man, it was deplorable to see the condi- 


ROME DURING THE LAST YEARS OF TIBERIUS. 


295 


tion of the country. Cocceius determined to die; he 
would live no longer; while yet his name was untarn¬ 
ished he would leave the world. He was weary of life, 
and of the scenes that were constantly enacting before 
his eyes. Not fully understanding the great idea of 
trusting in God at all times, and for all things, he 
thought to secure himself against fortune by a volun¬ 
tary death. He was “ still in the vigor of healih, and 
possessed of a splendid fortune.” When Tiberius heard 
of his resolve, he visited him and sought to change his 
purpose. He even said that it would be a reflection 
on himself, and on his government; and entreated him 
to desist. Nerva made no reply; but abstaining from 
food, “ shortly after closed his days.”* Thus, according 
to the historian, Cocceius Nerva “escaped with glory 
from the horrors of the time.” He was “ a man distin¬ 
guished by his knowledge of laws both human and di¬ 
vine.” Perhaps when in company with Tiberius, and a 
few learned men, he left Rome for Caprene, he thought 
of the island chiefly as a place of retirement and of 
philosophic pursuits ; not as a den of iniquity ; and 
where the tyrant would nurse projects of revenge. 
Weary of all this, and seeing little hope of change, he 
left the stage when it was yet day. 

It is the faith of the ancient Jewish Scriptures, no 
matter how dark the political horizon, how full of horror 
the times, how dark or obscure the prospect, how ap¬ 
parently hopeless the present condition of things,—to 
lift the vail, and to give us the assurance that sooner 


* Tao. An. book 6. sec. 25. 



296 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


or later, a time of peace, rest, and safety will arrive, 
with a complete deliverance from all fear. This is the 
chief theme of prophecy ; and imparts hope to the soul 
at all times and under all circumstances. Had Cocce- 
ius Nerva possessed this hope he would cheerfully have 
awaited his time, trusting in God. His philosophy was 
hardly equal to this. The death of Nerva occurred 
A. D. 3o. 

There had been in Rome for a little while a lull from 
the rage of prosecutions. This interval of rest did not 
last long; the storm broke out anew, and with increased 
fury. Confidius Proculus was the first victim. On his 
birthday, amid the joy of a festival, with his friends 
and family around, he was suddenly seized and conduct¬ 
ed to the senate house, where he was tried, condemned 
and hurried away to execution. The unfortunate man 
Buffered on a charge of “ violated majesty.” One victim 
followed another in quick succession. Sancia, the sister 
of Proculus, was interdicted from fire and water. A 
whole family perished, that of Pompeia Macrina. Ma- 
crina was banished ; her father and brother were put 
to death. Her husband and her father-in-law fell vic¬ 
tims to the cruelty of Tiberius. And what, think you, 
reader, was the crime ? It was this: it was charged 
“ that their ancestor, Theophanes of Mitylene, had 
been the confidential friend of Pompey the Great; 
and that divine honors were paid to the memory of 
Theophanes by the flattering genius of the Greek na¬ 
tion.” * 


♦ Tac. An. b. 6. eeo. ie. 






ROME DURING THE LAST YEARS OF TIBERIUS 297 


Another victim was Sextus Marius. He had great 
possessions in Spain. To obtain possession of his 
wealth he was seized and condemned. Incest with his 
daughter was the imputed crime. Until now Tiberius 
ha,d been free from the charge of avarice ; but when it 
was seen that the emperor seized and put to his own 
use the gold mines of Sextus Marius, then the motive of 
his death was made known. Marius was precipitated 
down the Tarpeian Rock. 

There were at this time confined in prison, a large 
number of persons supposed to be implicated in the 
schemes of Sejanus. They were ordered to be put to 
instant death. Now ensued a horrible scene. The 
dead bodies of the slain were cast into the streets, 
where they remained unburied. Neither friends nor 
relations were permitted to pay the last rites ; they 
were not permitted even to weep ; and guards were 
placed to watch if any showed signs of sympathy or 
grief. A mother was executed because she shed tears 
for her son. At length the mangled and putrified bodies 
were cast into the Tiber. Tiberius would not permit 
them to be buried or burned. “ All were struck with 
terror, and the last office of humanity was suppressed. 
Cruelty went on increasing, and every sentiment of the 
heart was smothered in silence.’ 7 * 


* Tac. An. book 6. sec. 19. 




298 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER II. 

LEX MAJ ESTATIS - 

The title of this chapter—that is u the law of* viola¬ 
ted majesty,” under which, as we have seen in the 
preceding chapter, Confidius Proculus was put to death, 
was anciently a law of the Republic. 

The object was (we have before made some reference 
to this) to punish those who should offend against the 
commonwealth ; impair its integrity, or weaken its au¬ 
thority. Any one conspiring -against the republic, or 
guilty of mal-administration,—any general betraying an 
army, would be amenable to this law. “ Men were ar¬ 
raigned for their actions, but words were free.”* 

How essential freedom of speech is to a free govern¬ 
ment, if it do not degenerate into licentiousness, it is 
easy to see. But words should be guarded, and speech 
sacred, at the same time that we express with freedom 
our thoughts, and convey our opinion of men and 
things. The acts of governments and of individuals 
form a proper subject of discussion. Stifle not free 
speech any more than you would the words of a friend 
conveying reproof, or admonitory in their character. 
The breath of liberty must not be stifled ; and freedom 
of speech, under easy limitations, is that living breath. 


* Tac. An. book 1. sec. 72, 




LEX MAJESTATIS. 


299 


Under the emperors, beginning with Augustus, this 
law, with so imposing a name, and under the old re¬ 
public so proper, was, says Tacitus, “ warped to new 
devices.” In the course of this work * the reader has 
had some illustration of its nature, and mode of opera¬ 
tion. We refer to it again. It was the little speck in 
the serene sky that at length darkened the land. Un¬ 
der it, as we have shown, informers grew and throve, 
the bane of just government. “ The tribe of miscreants,” 
as Suetonius styles them, continued to flourish until the 
time of Titus, who sought to extirpate them from the 
state To this end, “ he frequently ordered them to be 
scourged or beaten with sticks in the forum, and then, 
after he had obliged them to pass through the ampi- 
theatre as a public spectacle, commanded them to be 
sold for slaves, or else banished them to some rocky 
islands.” t 

By a law of the Twelve Tables, defamatory libels 
were strictly prohibited. Those who did not keep with¬ 
in due bounds, who by false and calumnious expres¬ 
sions injured the reputation, and deeply wounded those 
whom they assailed, could be punished. One Naevius, 
a comic poet, was thrown into prison for certain defam- 
tory (that is, slanderous) verses in one of his plays. 
This was a sufficient restraint both upon the pen and 
the tongue, agreeably to the scope of the old law. It 
did not make words a capital offence; though they 
might be malicious, injurious, and false. 

Augustus, not satisfied with the penalties affixed to 


* P. 67. 


f Life of Titus, s. 8. 



300 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


the old law for defamatory libels, by a forced construc¬ 
tion made these libels capital; and the man who com¬ 
mitted them was liable to the same pains and penalties 
as if he had committed treason, or, in other words, of¬ 
fended against the law of violated majesty. 

Augustus had been induced to this unwarrantable 
stretch of power by the satirical pen of Cassius Sever- 
us, who did not spare the emperor, any more than 
others. The manner in which he was ridiculed excited 
the indignation of the prince ; hence he made it a state 
crime. In time “ every thing was a state crime. Who¬ 
ever was obnoxious to the prince or his favorites, was 
brought within the law of majesty.” 

Tiberius followed in the steps of Augustus, as did all 
his successors down to Titus ; during his short and 
brilliant reign the brood of informers hatched under 
this law of majesty were put down : but the law w r as 
revived under Domitian. Soon after Tiberius com¬ 
menced his reign, “ being asked by the praetor, Pompei- 
us Macer, whether in such prosecutions judgments 
should be pronounced, returned for answer that the law 
must take its course.” * It really was not the law, but 
an undue stretch of prerogative. The judgments pro¬ 
nounced were not in accordance with law, they were the 
very essence of despotism. 

From this hour,—though at first Tiberius used mod¬ 
eration in the enforcement of the law of violated ma- 
jesty,-—yet, under its sanction tyranny had full scope; 
it whet the sword; it introduced a 11 new trade ; that of 


* Tac. An. book 1. sec. 72. 




LEX MA JESTATIS. 


301 


a public accuser.” Offences were not defined; this law 
was a great drag-net which took in ever}'- thing, every 
supposable case. It was impossible to avoid the law, 
for no one could tell what might be classed as an 
offence, and what not. We have already referred to the 
case of Apuleia Varilia, grand-niece of Augustus, who 
was charged with using defamatory -words of Augustus 
and Tiberius ;* we will refer further to the case of two 
Roman knights, Falanius and Rubrius, both attacked 
under the new mode of prosecution. One of the char¬ 
ges against Falanius was that he had suffered a statue 
of Augustus to be put up at auction with the rest of his 
goods. The crime alleged against Rubrius was, that 
being sworn on the name of Augustus, he was guilty of 
perjury, t Tiberius made replies to both, showing that 
there was no good ground of accusation in either case; 
and in a wise spirit of moderation quashed both pro¬ 
ceedings. Happy for him if he had been always thus 
wise and prudent, and kept within the bounds of justice 
and humanity ! Instead of a scourge, he would have 
been a blessing to his subjects : on the roll of fame, and 
in the heart of humanity, what a different place he 
would have occupied, and what a halo would have shone 
around his name ! Is it a little thing to have the es¬ 
teem, the love, the veneration of posterity? Flow know 
-we but that in some way this is connected with our 
future state ; and that the praise or dispraise of those 
who live after us may affect us favorably or unfavor¬ 
ably in another life ? Is there not some secret, invisible 


* Page 87. 


fTac. An. book 1. sec. 73. 



302 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


thread—some film-like cord—by which our actions in 
this world will be connected (at least for a time) with 
either our happiness or misery in the world to come ? 
Does the guilty tyrant escape at death the results of all 
the calamities he has made others suffer, or the ruin he 
has spread around? 

As another instance of prosecutions under Lex Ma- 
jestatis, Suetonius says of a person, whom he does not 
name, that he was condemned by the senate for taking 
the head from a statue of Augustus, and placing an¬ 
other in its room. The party in this case being found 
guilty, the most trivial acts were brought under the 
wide range of this odious law: as, for instance, it be¬ 
came capital for a man to beat his slave, or change his 
clothes near the statue of Augustus : as if, forsooth, 
the majesty of the emperor was weakened or lowered 
by what was done near his pale, marble statue. “ In 
fine,” we are told, “ a person was condemned to death, 
for suffering some honors to be decreed him in the 
colony where he lived, on the same day on which they 
had formerly been decreed to Augustus.” * 

0, tyranny, how subtle is thy spirit! What a fine 
essence. What forms dost thou not take—what new 
phases assume. For what? To enslave man ; to beat 
his manhood down to the dust; to degrade him lower 
than the beasts. Art thou not from hell ? Doino* the 

o 

* behests of thy imperious master, who seeks to enslave a 
world to lust by his cunning arts. So the devices of 
tyranny are endless, and so subtle and dark as to seem 


* Life of Tiberius, sec. 58 







CAPRE.E. 


303 


to proceed from Satan. Tyranny! Poisonous breath! 
All die who come within thy deadly influence. Civil 
liberty, next to the knowledge of God, (and they can¬ 
not long live apart) is the most inestimable boon that 
can be bestowed on man. 

We might enumerate many cases similar to those we 
have now mentioned ; but it is not necessary. In our 
next volume, “ The Two Agrippas,” (concluding our 
series of historical biography) we may have occasion to 
refer again to the operation of this law. We have said 
enough at present to show its nature and scope. 


I 


CHAPTER III. 

TIBERIUS IN HIS SOLITARY RETREAT AT CAPREJE. 

[a. D. 32, 33.] 

While Rome was wrapped in mourning, and joy was 
banished from the city, the emperor continued his ex¬ 
cesses in the isle of Capreae. At the age of seventy- 
three his passions remained unabated; and in his ser¬ 
vice were employed those who sought far and near for 
“ objects of desire” to gratify his unbridled appetites. 
It is the historian Tacitus who recounts the shameful 
story. The child of affectionate love, sheltered under 
the parental roof was not safe from the inquisitive eyes 
of the agents of Tiberius; like ravening wolves they 
roamed abroad in search of prey. They had a “ full 



HEROD ANTIPAS. 


30 ^ 

commission to allure the venal with presents, and to con¬ 
quer the reluctant by threats and violence.” No rank 
in society was exem-pt; “ to stain the honor of respect¬ 
able families gave zest to his enjoyments.” Modesty 
offered no protection ; it rather “ served as a provoca¬ 
tive/' The charm of innocence, the ingenuous blush 
mantling the cheek, the downcast eye, instead of ser¬ 
ving as a safeguard against brutal lust, and a restraint 
on appetite, only exposed the unhappy maiden to dan¬ 
ger ; and regardless of her cries, she was hurried from 
home and friends, and shut up in one of the villas of 
the emperor. Suetonius records the case of one Mallo- 
nia, who because she could not be forced even to com¬ 
pliance with his wishes, was given up to the common 
informers. Anticipating her condemnation, she stabbed 
herself. During her trial, Tiberius was present, and 
frequently cried out to her, and asked her, “ Do you 
repent?^ In the open court, and as she was leav¬ 
ing it, she upbraided him on account of his depraved 
tastes, exposing his secret practices. This was allu¬ 
ded to in a farce, which was acted at the next public 
sports ; and Tiberius became a common object of rid¬ 
icule.* 

We are further told that “with the pride of eastern 
despotism, he seized the young men of ingenuous birth 
and forced them to yield to his sensual gratifications.”* 
“New modes of sensuality were invented, and new terms 
for scandalous refinements in lascivious pleasure.” f 
On this island he invented, thought out (excogitavit) 


* Tac. An. book 6. sec. 1. 


+ Ibid. 




CAPREiE. 


305 


apartments for the practice of secret, scandalous vice, 
hence called sellarii. These were expressly fitted up 
for the purpose, and set round with pictures and statues 
to inflame the lowest, meanest, most debasing passions; 
to lower man, so exalted by reason—so crowned by his 
Creator with glory and honor—not merely to a level 
with beasts, but far below beasts. Some of these apart¬ 
ments were occasionally filled wiih water, like the 
amphitheatre at Rome when a naumachia (sea-fight) was 
to be exhibited as a public spectacle. In these ponds 
took place such things—under the eye of Tiberius—as, 
says Suetonius, are “not fit to be mentioned or heard, 
much less credited.”* This was one of the recreations 
of Tiberius. There were also recesses in woods and 
groves—caves and hollow rocks—in which somewhat 
similar scenes were enacted ; but not so brutal, so dis¬ 
graceful to human nature, as the particular abomina¬ 
tion referred to by Suetonius, and which calls forth his 
withering rebuke. A heathen writer, accustomed to 
the follies of the age, cannot find language sufficiently 
strong to denounce “ the unnatural experiments of pros¬ 
titution.” 

In addition to such debasing pursuits, Tiberius in his 
solitary retreat at Capreae, continued under Thrasyllus 
his favorite study of judicial astrology. In the island of 
Rhodes, where as we have seen, he passed eight years 
of his life, “ he employed his leisure, in the acquisition 
of that science. The seeds of time were the early 
study of Tiberius.” The following incident which took 


* Hie of libtrftiB, tree. 44. 



306 


HEROD ANTIFAS. 


place in Rhodes, shows how Tiberius tried the skill of 
Thrasyllus ; the manner in which the astrologer came 
forth from the trial, gave the emperor ever after the 
greatest confidence in his abilities. While so many of 
the intimate friends of Tiberius fell under the hands of 
the executioner, the astrologer was safe. 

The incident referred to was as follows: it is thus 
related by Tacitus. 

When on Rhodes Tiberius chose to consult an astrolo¬ 
ger, he retired with him to the top of the house, attend¬ 
ed by a single freedman, selected for the purpose, 
illiterate, but of great bodily strength. This man con¬ 
ducted the soothsayers whose talents were to be tried, 
along the ridge of the cliff on which the mansion stood; 
and as he returned, if the emperor suspected fraud, or 
vain affectation of knowledge, he threw the impostor 
headlong into the sea. Tiberius was by these means 
left at ease, and no witness survived to tell the story. 
Thrasyllus was put to the same test. Being led along 
the precipice he answered a number of questions; and 
not only promised imperial splendor to Tiberius, but 
opened a scene of future events in a manner that filled 
his imagination with astonishment. Tiberius desired to 
know “ Whether he had cast his own nativity ? Could 
he foresee what was to happen in the course of the 
year ? nay, on that very day ? ” 

Ihrasyllus consulted the position of the heavens, and 
the aspect of the planets : he was struck with fear ; he 
paused ; hesitated 5 he sunk into profound meditation j 
terror and amazement shook his frame. Breaking si¬ 
lence at last, I perceive,” ho said, “the crisis of my 


CAPREjB. 


307 


fate; this very moment may be my last.” Tiberius 
clasped him in his arms, congratulating him both on 
his knowledge and his escape from danger.* 

On the island of Capreae Tiberius gave a specimen, in 
the case of Servius Galba, of his own knowledge of the 
future. This was a. d. 33. From the top of his villa 
on the east end of the island, built on that high promi¬ 
nence, under that serene sky, whose azure vault was 
reflected from the depths of the glassy wave below, 
Tiberius “consulted the position of the heavens, and 
the aspect of the planets.” He studied the nativity of 
individuals ; the time, place, and manner of their birth; 
and among the rest that of Servius Galba. Galba was 
one of the consuls for the present year. He was 
not in any way allied to the family of the Caesars, but of 
very noble extraction, being descended from a great 
and ancient family. He always used to put among his 
other titles upon the bases of his statues, his being 
great-grandson to Q,. Catulus Capitolinus. He was em¬ 
peror after Nero, in whom the Caesars became extinct.* 

3 iberius did not love this man very much. His mother 
Livia, widow of the emperor Augustus, left Galba a le¬ 
gacy of fifty millions sesterces. But because the sum 
was expressed in figures, and not in words at length, 
Tiberius reduced it to five hundred thousand ; and this 
he did not receive until paid by Caligula. 

Once during the year of his consulship, Galba, being 
on a visit to the emperor—perhaps having come to con¬ 
sult him in his official capacity, or else paying him a 


* Tao. An. boo'< vii sen. Suet. Life of Galba sec. 23. 




308 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


visit of form. Tiberius called him to an audience. In 
order to penetrate his inmost thoughts he tried him on 
various topics, and at length told him in Greek, You 
too, Galba, at a future day, will have a taste of sove¬ 
reign power,” alluding to his elevation late in life, and 
the shortness of his reign. * 

He perished by the hands of assassins, in the sev¬ 
enty-third year of his age, and the ninth month of his 
reign. 

Josephus, the Jewish historian, gives an account of 
the manner in which Tiberius determined who should 
be his successor, whether Caligula, the son of Germani- 
cus, or Tiberius, the son of Drusus. He bade Erodus, 
his freedman, to bring the children to him the next day 
in the morning, determining in his own mind that the 
government should be left to him who should come to 
him first. Accordingly, at the appointed time, he bade 
Erodus call in that child that should be there ready. 
Erodus did so, and found Caius (Caligula) before the 
door. For Tiberius, his son’s son, was not yet come, 
but staid waiting for his breakfast. 

The appearance of Caius was a great shock to the 
emperor, who wished to leave the Roman empire to his 
own grandson. Nevertheless, regarding his own purpo¬ 
ses as overruled by fate, he did not alter his resolution, 
but fixed the succession of Caligula, son of Germanicus. 
even though, according to Josephus, by his knowledge 
of the art of divination, he foresaw the sad end of Tibe- 


* Tfcc. An. book vi eeo.2 0. Suet. Lilfe of Galbe eee. 23 . 




CAPREJE. 


309 


rius, his own grandson by the hands of Caligula. # Ta¬ 
citus records the same thing: we repeat the sayinor 
though we have mentioned it before, that the accord on 
this point between the Jewish and Roman historian 
may be seen. A little while before the death of the 
emperor, “while with tears of affection he clasped in 
his arms the youngest of his grandsons, he observed 
the stern countenance of Caligula, and calmly told him, 
“Yon will kill this boy, and fall yourself by some other 
hand.’ ” f 


* Jos. An. book vi. sec. 46. 
f Jos. Antiq. book xviii., ch. 6. sec. 8. 9. 



HEROD ANTIPAS. 


a 10 


Ikoli (Skbtdji. 


CHAPTER I. 

HEROD ANTIPAS HEARS OF JESUS. THE RESURRECTION 

OF THE DEAD. 

[a. D. 22, 33.] 

In his palace at Sepphoris was Herod at rest. Few 
lovelier prospects could be presented to the eye than 
the rich and smiling plain of Zebulon. On an insulat¬ 
ed hill overlooking this plain, on the southern line, as 
we have described, stood Sepphoris, the chief city of 
Galilee. Its walls, its citadel, its high tower, were seen 
from afar ; it was a strong city. Herodias had grat¬ 
ified her revenge, and was content. No guilty fears, 
no remorseful recollections disturbed her bosom. But 
Herod Antipas, was he at rest ? As he wandered 
through the gorgeous palace, or sat down in some ar¬ 
bor of the palace garden, or from some high balcony 
looked out on the lovely plain, or on the sea in the dis¬ 
tance, was he not more or less disturbed, his conscience 
corroded by the recollection of his guilt in consenting 
to the death of a man whom he knew to be noble and 
just. By a weak compliance with the wishes of a bad 



JOHN THE BAPTIST. 


311 


woman, (how many a guilty deed has been committed 
through such malign influence) inspired by fierce re¬ 
venge, lie had put to death John, the forerunner of the 
Jewish Messiah. On his birthday, while he held high 
festival in the castle of Machserus, he passed his oath in 
a jovial hour to the daughter of Herodias, who danced 
to please him, that she should have whatsoever gift she 
asked, even to the half of his kingdom. In an evil hour 
he made an oath to this effect. Instructed by her mo¬ 
ther, the daughter—we may hope reluctantly—asked 
the head of John the Baptist. The executioner soon 
performed his office, and the head with its gory locks, 
was brought to the damsel on a large silver dish. Thus 
was closed the career of the prophet of the Highest, 
the announcement of whose birth was made by an angel 
from heaven, in the solitude of the temple, and at the 
hour of the evening sacrifice. His death came in a 
moment; it did but transfer his soul to the paradise of 
God when it was fully ripe for glory. 

On the wings of every wind was borne the name of a 
new prophet, whose marvellous deeds were now the 
theme of every tongue. The whole land rang with the 
sound; from every direction tidings of what was transpi¬ 
ring came to Sepphoris. Jesus had not visited this 
city ; he kept aloof from it, and its tetrarch. But the 
traveller, the merchant, whoever visited the city for 
business or pleasure, recounted the wondrous story. 
Herod, by no means at rest in his mind before—as if 
like Saul he had seen a ghost, a spirit clothed as if in 
human garb, from another world — is filled with fear> 
and imagines the new prophet, whose fame filled the 


312 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


land, to be none other than John the Baptist, whom 
he had beheaded. John had performed no miracles; 
but being now raised from the dead, he is clothed with 
new power: “Therefore mighty works do show forth 
themselves in him.” There is no denial of the works 
that were done ; they were too evident; and were cor¬ 
roborated by universal testimony. Unable to conceive 
of any other cause, and greatly alarmed, haunted by 
guilty fears, he ascribes them to John the Baptist, 
whom God by his mighty power has raised from the 
dead. This is the source of his power; he is risen from 
the dead. What a testimony is this to the fact, that, in 
the belief of Herod Antipas, John was a true prophet 
of the Most High. Who but God can raise the dead ? 
can rekindle in our ashes the living spark ? What art 
has man to do this ? Beside this, Herod Antipas by 
this concession, gives his testimony to the great Jewish 
doctrine of the resurrection of the dead, the doctrine 
which lies at the foundation of the Old Testament. It 
is not with this Jewish ruler a matter of speculation ; 
he is fully informed of that doctrine, and gives it his 
unhesitating assent. He takes the doctrine for granted. 
He adds to it by supposing that, rising from the grave, 
a man is invested with a power like that of God Al¬ 
mighty. 

There occurred about this time, as was then believed, 
(though treated as fabulous) the extraordinary phenom¬ 
ena of a new-risen phoenix. “ This bird,” says Tacitus, 

; after disappearing for a series of ages, revisited 
These birds were seen at long intervals; the 
first appeared in the reign of Sesostris ; the second in 


JOHN THE BAPTIST. 


313 


that of Amasis ; the third when Ptolemy, of the Mace¬ 
donian race, was seated on the throne of Egypt. This 
phoenix, it is said, directed its flight toward Heliopolis, 
(the bird is sacred to the sun) attended by a group of 
various birds, all attracted by the novelty, and gazing 
with wonder at so beautifal an appearance. Tacitus 
does not vouch for these accounts. From Ptolemy to 
Tiberius but two hundred and fifty years had elapsed, 
when the bird appeared again in Egypt; whereas the 
common persuasion was that it lived five hundred 
years. From the old bird sprang the new ; from the 
principles of life deposited by the father in its native 
clime of Arabia, just before its death. From the de¬ 
posit arises a new progeny; and away the young bird 
flies through a long tract of air, rejoicing in his new 
and not ephemeral existence. * 

m 

This bird, had been regarded “ as a prognostic of the 
resurrection, because it revived out of its own ashes.” 
Whether its periodical appearance in Egypt be true or 
not, (both Tacitus and Pliny, the naturalist, believed in 
this) the reported appearance of the bird in the reign 
of Tiberius, at the time that Christ abolished death, 
and brought life and immortality to light, is a pleasing 
coincidence, and is deemed worthy of mention in the 
present connection. 

The resurrection of the body! how beautiful the 
idea—how sweet the thought! The phoenix, arising out 
of the ashes of its sire, does but faintly symbolize the 
resurrection of the material body, now made spiritual 


* Tac An. boo’: vi. sec. 28. 



314 


HEROD ANTI PAS. 


and incorruptible. Sprung originally from the dust, it 
is now refined and spiritualized by God—its earthly 
particles having undergone a radical change; (though 
it is impossible to tell what that change is) and it will 
die no more. Corruption will put on incorruption; and 
what is sown in weakness will be raised in almighty 
strength. Countless ages will be but the beginning 
of life, even for the body ; life ever beginning and 
never ending. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE ROSE OF SHARON. 

“ And after the fire a still small voice.” 1 Kings xix. 12. 

The two-fold character in which Christ appeared in 
our world, not only as David’s Son, but also as David’s 
Lord, (God over all, blessed forevermore) has not been 
sufficiently considered. The picture must be viewed on 
both sides. As the Son of David, agreeably to the say¬ 
ing of the angel to Mary, the mother of Jesus, he would 
ascend the throne of his father David ; and reign over 
the house of Jacob forever: while of his kingdom there 
should be no end. This is one side of the picture. As 
David’s Lord he was to reign in the hearts of the chil¬ 
dren of men. This is the other side of the picture. 
The two views should not be separated, otherwise con¬ 
fusion will arise; and like the two knights we will be 



THE ROSE OF SHARON. 


315 


ready to fight, when in reality both contestants are 
right. One side of the shield is indeed silver ; the 
other is gold. 

The purport of this chapter refers to the divine 
kingdom; that which is established in the human heart. 
But the one is inseparable from the other. That which 
is established in the heart, prepares the individual to be 
a good subject of the temporal kingdom of the Son of 
David. Hence these words of Jesus to Nicodemus : 
“ Except a man be born again, he cannot see the king¬ 
dom of God.” He that is born again, is born from 
above ; that is, of David’s Lord. He receives a new 
nature ; he becomes a new creature. Born from above, 
of God, he becomes a partaker of the divine nature, and 
is thus prepared to give in his adhesion to the Son of 
David, sitting on the throne of his father David. This 
is the order. First, born of David’s Lord, and then 
enrolled as a good subject and soldier of the kingdom 
of the Son of David on earth, whose capital city will 
be Jerusalem, as it was in the days of old : according to 
this Scripture : “ Then the moon shall be confounded, 
and the sun ashamed, when the Lord of Hosts shall 
reign in Mount Zion, and in Jerusalem, and before his 
ancients gloriously.” * All prophecy tends to the exal¬ 
tation of Jerusalem, and of God’s ancient people. The 
Jerusalem from above must not supersede the Jerusa¬ 
lem below. This earth will be the grand theatre in 
which God will yet perform his greatest wonders; will 
exhibit spectacles both of mercy and judgment. While 


* Isaiah xxiv. 26. 



316 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


with the one hand he overturns the kingdoms of this 
world, with the other, amid confusion, darkness, and 
terror, he will establish on their ruins his own kingdom, 
that of the Messiah. This will be, according to the 
word of prophecy, the day of days. 

To gain subjects for his earthly kingdom,—both from 
among the living and the dead,—to beautify the earth 
with righteousness, Jesus has appeared on earth as the 
‘•Rose of Sharon;” as the one “altogether lovely;’’ 
as the “chiefest among ten thousand full of beauty, 
adorned with every earthly grace. Without a compeer 
among the children of men for personal loveliness ; for 
every charm that can win and attach, in untiring con¬ 
stancy and sweet rapture, the human heart. The soul, 
wedded to one so fair, will rove no more; ihe divine 
and the human are so blended in Christ as completely 
and forever to satisfy the soul with goodness. It is the 
lustre of heaven that draws; it is the beauty of Jesus 
that attracts. Divine love possesses man; he is tilled 
with all the fulness of God. He explores a field whose 
riches are unsearchable. 

There can be no doubt that Jesus appeared on earth, 
among men, with a beauty never equalled. And little 
as we are apt to think of it, there will be that in his 
personal appearance in the world to come, when he 
shall sit on the throne of his glory, on which we can 
gaze without tiring forever. Beside, new beauties will 
be constantly disclosed; and the enchantment will 
never be dissolved. When the vail is lifted a little, and 
here in the flesh we have some view of the face of 
Jesus, (made to the mind by the Holy Spirit) nothing 


I 


THE ROSE OF SHARON. 317 

can exceed the pure delight, the holy rapture. The 
mind had never before any conception of such loveli¬ 
ness, such ravishing beauty. It is transported with 
the sight. Thus God, seen in the face of Jesus Christ, 
'will administer to our sense of the beautiful as nothing 
else could do; and we shall find from this source a 
charm before which the highest creations of art will 
fade away. 

Here is an element of beauty, a source of happiness, 
which, as one of the ingredients of the kingdom of God 
on earth, has not perhaps sufficiently entered into our 
calculations. Think of one so fair mingling among men; 
as it were the face of an angel presented to view, on 
which men indiscriminately were called to look. Think 
of the ever-varying expression of the face; the glance 
of the eye ; the step; the voice, sweeter than music; 
the charm of the manner, the gracefulness of the ac¬ 
tion. 

Then what words he spoke; what truths he uttered. 
He drew aside the vail that hides the glories of the in¬ 
visible world, and men saw into eternity; and death 
retired; and “beauty immortal awoke from the tomb.” 
It was the victor over the tomb who was so fair, so beau¬ 
tiful ; and from this might be presaged what stores of 
beauty are laid away, kept in reserve for the enjoyment 
of man in his new terrestrial paradise. 0 God, thou 
art so good to man! His choicest blessing are yet to 
come. The darkness of time will retire, and the day of 
eternity dawn, and this earth be enrobed in gladness 
and beauty. The last sigh will expire, borne away on 
the passing wind; and the bosom will heave with sorrow 


318 HEROD ANTTPAS. 

' / 

no more; not another tear will wet the cheek. Above 
all there will be nothing to fear any more. 

Jesus engages the hearts of his loyal subjects. Rav¬ 
ished by his beauty, they are ravished also by the 
riches of his love. 

The love of Jesus. Ah! what shall we say? Will 
not that win. hearts ? Does it not, even now, to this 
day, win hearts? Earthly love! Some are afraid of it. 
They need not be; only let it be pure, and seek the 
good of the object that is loved. What are we made 
for, but to love, and to be loved ? Love is the bond of 
perfectness. You that wage such war against Jesus 
and his gospel,—and, if you could, would say that no 
such person as Jesus the Christ ever existed,—that he 
is a cheat, and his life a forgery,—what, I pray you, 
have you to say to this love, bounded only by the limits 
of humanity, which Hows from his heart to yours, and 
mine ? A love so entirely pure and unselfish; and 
which, if it were universal, (as it is destined to be) 
would turn this earth into heaven? Is this the fruit of 
deception? of a cheat? of a sham? of a lie ? Y 7 es! so 
does the sun not shine nor warm. 

0 , ineffable beauty and love! thou stoopest to man, 
to win him back to thine embrace. The heavens bend f 
and form an arch hung with azure drapery, to let the 
Son of Man pass through on his errand of mercy arid 
love. He comes, clothed with more than mortal grace; 
his charms are matchless; his face is radiant with 
beauty; his bosom heaves with love; his heart burns 
with holy fire, with inextinguishable desire to fill the 
world with the lustre of his throne, and to inaugurate 


THE ROSE OF SHARON. 


319 


over all the earth the reign of peace. Thou dost not 
come, 0 Prince of Peace, armed like high Jove, with an 
avenging thunderbolt, or in the guise of a warrior, with 
fury-intlamed face, or with thy garments reeking in 
blood; but in spotless white vesture, with a shepherd’s 
crook in thy hand, and with a voice low and sweet, soft 
and tender, like sound of distant melody stealing over 
the waters on a summer evening, as daylight fades 
away, and the evening stars one by one appear, till as 
a glittering host they are marshalled o’er the sky. 
“ Thou art all fair, my love ; there is no spot in thee.” 
0 God ! is not the earth dazzled with thy beauty ? 
charmed with thy more than siren voice ? melted with 
thy love ? The fragrance of thy love is as the frag¬ 
rance of the rose; but its perfume is wafted over the 
wide desert, and only now and then a solitary traveller 
making his weary way along, inhales the odor of the 
flower, and is refreshed thereby, more than with a thou¬ 
sand essences. Uncreated beauty! Hast thou smiled 
upon man in,vain ? Love divine! Canst thou not win 
hearts to bow to thy mild sceptre ? 

Primeval beauty ! What rival hath stepped between 
thee and the soul that once adored, and knew and de¬ 
sired no other charm but thine. What new face, what 
meretricious charm has won the once ardent lover from 
his peerless mistress ? What throne has been set up 
that outdazzles that of the Creator, and draws away 
hearts from his dominion ? As a star wanders from its 
orbit, and leaves a lurid train behind, so man, wandering 
from God, roams restless o’er the earth, enamored of 
some image of ideal beauty, which his wanton fancy 


320 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


has set up, and which as often escapes as he vainly 
seeks to grasp in his fond embrace. Once and again 
he thinks he has found the substance, but it always 
proves to be a shadow. It is a phantom disappearing 
in the cold mists of morning ; however gay and brilliant, 
and decked with many-colored plumage it appeared in 
the glitter of evening, and amid the thousand lights 
that shone upon the festive scene,—the lights went out, 
the phantom vanished ; and the heart was as desolate 
and empty, as chill and dark as before. 


CHAPTER III. 

• i 

THE ROCK ON WHICH THE CHURCH IS BUILT ! ON WHICH 
Christ’s temporal throne and dominion stand. 

There are writers who, as if they had a pique at 
Christ, and measuring him by themselves, go out of 
their way to show that he was governed by a love of 
applause, and a desire of notoriety, because he ques¬ 
tioned his disciples concerning the opinions that were 
formed of him by those without. They conceive of 
Jesus as gathering the twelve in a group around 
him, himself the centre of the group, and questioning 
them concerning what was said by others in regard to 
his person and ministry, from the one motive of self- 
love, and to minister to his love of approbation. They 
do not take into account—being carried away by per- 



321 


peter’s testimony. 

sonal pique and prejudice—the purport of this ques¬ 
tioning, which was neither more nor less than to test 
their own faith in him ; whether or not they believed 
him to be really and truly the Christ. This is clear 
from the question he puts directly to them: “ But 
whom do ye say that I am ?” This led to the acknow¬ 
ledgment of Peter, (Peter speaking for the rest) that 
he was really and truly the Christ. Then came the 
declaration of Christ, that on this testimony of Peter, 
this, “ the word of his testimony,” the belief and ac¬ 
knowledgment that Jesus was the Messiah, he would 
establish his church, and build up his temporal throne 
and earthly dominion. 

The testimony of Peter was this, “We believe and 
are sure thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.” 
This is the Rock, rising from ocean’s unfathomable 
depths, on which the church of the living God is built; 
and the rock also on which the future Jewish empire is 
to be established. The waves of the Red Sea must 
part, and Israel acknowledge Jesus to be the Lord, 
their Messiah, and then the nation will rise to empire, 
as easily as of old they walked dry shod through the 
depths of the sea. Then will be witnessed a far greater 
deliverance than that from Egypt. This acknowledg¬ 
ment that Jesus is the Messiah, will be the Sign, the 
signal for the assembling of the outcasts of Israel, and 
gathering together the dispersed of Israel from the far 
corners of the earth. * Moses had but a rod in his 
hand, which was the signal or sign of the coming de- 


* Isaiah xi. 12. 



322 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


liverance ; and by the virtue which God imparted to 
this rod, and the power accompanying its use, agreeably 
to the command of God, he was enabled to perform 
such wonders in behalf of his people. What an insig¬ 
nificant instrument! What a feeble rod! What a dry 
stick! Yet were ever such wonders performed before 
by human agency ? Surely not. No wonder men want 
to shut out the supernatural from the Mosaic history, 
and to resolve it all into the myths of Greek or Roman 
story, or the feats of knight-errantry. Was all this 
done by a dry stick ? What then becomes of the deeds 
of men—of their most vaunted works. What a stain is 
thus cast on human glory, and how is the pride of man 
brought down. The oak, in his strength and grandeur 
is laid low, and man shown his littleness, and the emp¬ 
tiness of all his vain boasts. What did this rod in the 
hands of Moses, this insignificant, dry stick prefigure? 
Neither more nor less than this, “ The Testimony of 
Jesusthat is, the explicit avowal that Jesus is the 
Christ. What the rod was to Moses, the testimony of 
Jesus is to us, and to all that believe on his name. Is¬ 
rael will find this to be so in the day that it acknow¬ 
ledges Jesus to be the Messiah. This is the talismanic 
word, before which the gates fly open, and Israel 
marches forth as of old in the wilderness, according to 
the number of her tribes, to take possession of the prom¬ 
ised land. Why has this land been kept so long vacant, 
unless it be to receive to her warm embrace the rem¬ 
nant of Israel, those living in our day, but now dis¬ 
persed over all the earth. The faith that animated 
Joseph in his day animates this people now. The land 


323 


petek’s testimony. 

is theirs, {> and they are even now in the possession of it 
by faith. But the Jew of this day must have the faith 
of his ancestors ; and then, at the name of “ Jesus of 
Nazareth, the Son of Joseph,” on the wings of the wind 
they will be borne back to the land of their fathers. 

Are the means inadequate to the end? The acknow¬ 
ledgment that Jesus is the Christ,—is “the Son of 
God,”—is precisely the same in effect as the rod. 
Moses understood this well; he wrote of Christ. All 
he did was done in that name. He did not look at the 
means so much, as at the appointment and ordinance 
of God. What is the “ stone cut out of the mountain 
without hands,” but the testimony of Jesus—the ac¬ 
knowledgment that Jesus is the Messiah ? It is this 
stone which is to become a great mountain, and to fill 
the whole earth. The Rock, then, on which the future 
kingdom of the Jews—that is, of the Messiah—is to be 
built, is the testimony of Jesus ; the belief and acknow¬ 
ledgment that Jesus is the promised Jewish Messiah, 
the long looked for King of Israel. 

The church of God, everywhere the same, common to 
all ages and to all nations, is built on the same Rock. 
Faith in Christ; this is the rock on which each believer 
stands ; and the greatest thing we can learn or know is 
this. To him give all the prophets witness ; and to 
know Jesus as the Christ with an unwavering faith, is 
to know the purport and substance of all that the holy 
prophets have written. All other knowledge is little 
and vain beside this. When you fully stand on this 
rock, when you can truly, from a knowledge of Scrip¬ 
ture testimony, say with Peter, “We believe and are 


324 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


sure thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God,* 
then we stand on a foundation against which the gates 
of hell cannot prevail. 

The reader must not think we attach too much im¬ 
portance to this point. What else but this did Jesus 
essay to teach to his disciples during all the time that 
he continued with them, both before and after his res¬ 
urrection ? What was the object of all his teaching ; 
of the close intimacy that subsisted between him and 
them; of their admittance to a nearer insight into his 
works than others, and displays of his glory—as for 
instance, that on the Mount of transfiguration—but to 
teach them, what they most needed to learn, in view of 
their mission to plant the Christian church,—-faith in 
him as the Son of God—as the promised Jewish Mes¬ 
siah. As the builders of that church, it was necessary 
that they should know on what foundation it rested ; 
what was the Rock on which it was to be immovably 
built. To do this, whence did he draw his proof? Did 
he dig down into the bowels of the earth ? Did he seek 
the testimony of rocks ? Did he decipher ancient in¬ 
scriptions ? Did he consult the antiquities of Egypt 
and other lands. Did he deduce labored inferences 
from science, analogy, and history? Did he feel his 
way in the dark, amid dubious materials, and as if he 
were following a scientific investigation? Ear from 
this. ' He took the simplest method possible. His dis¬ 
ciples were men of plain common sense; and it was in 
their power to weigh the evidence the Scriptures fur¬ 
nished, without any great degree of mental effort, and 
to satisfy themselves from the works and teaching of 


peter’s testimony. 


325 


•Jesus, and their knowledge of him in private, whether 
or not he answered the description given of him in the 
law, the Psalms and the prophets. Here was evidence 
which came home to their hearts and business, and 
which they could understand. Once satisfied that Jesus 
was the Messiah—that he had descended from Heaven 
to earth—that he had power on earth to forgive sins— 
that the government of the world itself was upon his 
shoulders—that he w T as the source of life—that nothing 
existed save at his word—and that for his pleasure all 
things were created,—and they had the secret key of 
all divine knowledge in their hands. They knew what 
was most essential to be known, both of life and godli¬ 
ness, and could wait for the solution of what was less 
generally known, or what was so dark and abstruse 
that an attempt to explain did but perplex, if it did not 
lead the inquirer astray from the simple pathway of 
truth. 

If the sacred Scriptures do not in themselves contain 
whatever is essential to salvation, if plain, unlettered 
men, seeking the wisdom that is from above, cannot tell 
what they mean, then Jesus was much at fault, and his 
disciples also. But they do contain all knowledge es¬ 
sential to salvation; they do not mislead ; and their 
sublime morality is proof of this. They make a man 
like Grod; they make men what Jesus said, when 
quoting from the Psalms, “ I said ye are gods truly 
godlike; above any mean, dishonorable action; open as 
the day; true as steel; upright in the sense of not even 
conceiving anything that was deceitful, much less des¬ 
cending to a low act from the expectation of gain,— 


326 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


making him in fact, in the highest and noblest sense, 

an HONEST MAN. 

Batter the outworks of Christianity as you please, 
but while you receive the sum and essence of the 
sacred Word, to wit, that Jesus is the Christ, the Son 
of God,—the oitadel is safe. The testimony of Jesus 
is the Bock on which the one, indivisible, universal 
church securely and forever rests. 


CHAPTER IV. 

EARTH THE GRAND THEATRE IN WHICH GOD DESIGNS TO 
PERFORM HIS GREATEST WORKS : TO EXHIBIT HIS MOST 
SPLENDID SPECTACLES, IN CONNECTION WITH THE RE¬ 
DEMPTION OF THE WORLD. 

The stars do not shine as they did; the heavens are 
not as pellucid as they once were ; the winds do not 
blow as softly as they did ; the air is not so pure as it 
once was; the sea is not as clear as in the time before 
the Hood; neither does the sun shine with the same 
peerless majesty as when he first set out on his un¬ 
trodden course. A chill has fallen on all things ; a 
odark cloud. The elements are in commotion; the earth 
is moved; and everything is heaved up, as if by an 
earthquake. Nothing is at rest; a pall is drawn over 
the sky; and sounds of wailing are heard, as in north¬ 
ern regions, when all is darkness and desolation, and 



earth’s future. 


327 


dismal moans, as of imprisoned winds or ice-bound 
ocean, break upon the ear, and fill the mind with strange 
forebodings. The native in his hut, clad in skins, 
warmed by his lamp, hears the sad, distant sound, and 
thinks, mayhap, that evil spirits are careering on the 
air, and continues to crouch in his hut, not venturing: 
forth with his spear to battle with the elements, and 
gain food necessary for his existence. So earth is all 
sad and dreary to what it was of yore, and man’s ear is 
filled with dismal sounds and portents drear 

It is strange that interpreters of the Bible ignore 
this earth as they do, as if it had not been made es¬ 
pecially for man, and was not designed for his proper 
habitation. For what else was it made, if not for man, 
and for such creatures as God designed for the use of 
man, and upon whom he put the dread of man, as their 
sovereign and master. And because a blight and chill, 
through transgression, has fallen on this once fair and 
cloudless earth, shall we give it up to bats and owls, as 
those cities of old, whose ruins tell their former great¬ 
ness and magnificence. A time will come when even 
those ancient cities shall be rebuilt and reinhabited,— 
and shall not the earth be rebuilt, and ascend its high 
pedestal, and merit and receive the appellation of “ very 
good,” from the mouth of its Creator once more. It is 
on earth so many tragic scenes have been displayed ; 
it has been on earth God has poured so many vials of 
his wrath; sword, fire, famine and pestilence (these 
four scourges in the hand of God as the scourge in the 
hand of Jesus in the temple) have laid wmste and deso¬ 
lated the earth, and yet has not God said, “ There shall 


328 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


be no more curse ? To what sphere does this refer, if 
not to this earth ? It surely does not refer to heaven, 
that seat or place where God is, and into which sin and 
sorrow have not entered. No. It is to this earth—and 
this alone—that the promise refers, “and there shall be 
no more curse.” 

While all heaven above—the glorious beings there— 
are looking with intense interest to this earth, as the 
scene where God will chiefly manifest his power and 
faithfulness, man is looking away from this earth, to 
some unknown untried state, for his future habitation. 
What does the Word say on this point? It says this : 

“And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art wor¬ 
thy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: 
for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by 
thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and peo¬ 
ple, and nation ; and hast made us unto our God kings 
and priests : and we shall reign on the earth” * 

Cast your eye back, and what do you see ? You 
see the old world destroyed by water; h’odom and Gom¬ 
orrah destroyed by fire; the nations of Canaan rooted 
out for their idolatry and abominable licentiousness ; the 
cities of Nineveh and Babylon made a den of dragons 
and serpents, lying all still and waste, marked by little 
else but mounds of earth, which the winds of the desert 
drive to and fro across the sandy plain. This is what 
you see in the history of the past. And as for naiions, 
the greatest nations of antiquity,—they rise and fall, 
involving ruin upon untold myriads of the human race 


* Rev. v. 9, 10. 



earth’s future. 


329 


in their disastrous overthrow. Like the ghosts of 
Banquo, they follow, these nations, in sad procession, 
each one telling the same tale, and casting a pall over 
the stage across which they pass. This is the picture 
of the past,—what is that of the future ? 

It is big with scenes of tremendous magnitude, but 
this earth is the place where they are to be acted. 
God has partly drawn the vail aside, and has shown us 
the impending future, as of a picture draped in black 
on one side, and on the other festooned with bowers, 
and gay in dancing sunlight. Over the mythology of 
the ancients no light from the dark, impervious future 
was shed ; but in Jewish story the future was opened 
by their prophets. The fate of nations is predicted ; 
not in vague, indefinite terms, but in the most exact 
language, the same as if it were already accomplished ; 
and this too at a time when these nations were flour¬ 
ishing in the highest degree. So too of cities; such 
cities as Tyre, Sidon, Nineveh, and Babylon. The tra¬ 
veller who visits them now, finds, after the lapse of so 
many hundred years, that the painting has been drawn 
with colors none too sad and drear. The historic-pro¬ 
phetic picture tells its own tale to the traveller, as he 
sits down by the waters, on some fallen column, and 
surveys the ruins of Tyre ; or, amid intolerable heat, 
rides over the wide, sandy plain, seeking almost in vain 
for the remains of walls that once towered in the sky; 
of a tower whose building marked the interposition of 
providence; the confusion of tongues; and the disper¬ 
sion of peoples. Babylon how low hast thou fallen! 
And was not thy end predicted ? Step by stop, through 





330 

» 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


revolving centuries, slowly but surely the word of Gcd 
has been literally accomplished. I his cannot be d?- 
nied. So exact is the accomplishment, that by a com¬ 
parison with the prediction, it carries with it its own 
evidence. And so long did it take to accomplish the 
final result, that you cannot go back, and say, the pre¬ 
diction followed the event. The whole is too ancient ; 
and the words of the prophets were written, as all evi¬ 
dence fully shows, long before Babylon was reduced to 
its present condition. An omniscient eye foresaw, and 
to man was it given, in the height of the glory of the 
city, and the fulness of its prosperity, to describe its 
present mournful state, in the midst of the most deso¬ 
late of plains, though the Euphrates still Hows through 
the arid, silent region. All waste, silence, and desola¬ 
tion ; and the willow and the palm tree, under which 
Judea captive sat with untuned harp, and the songs 
of Zion silent on her lips, shade the flowing waters 
or the burning plain no more. 

But in the far future some second Babylon is to 
arise ; the greatest city the world ever yet saw. We 
do not know certainly whether its foundations are laid; 
though this may be. Like the city of Borne in its in¬ 
fancy, it may even now have started on its career of 
greatness. It has been forenamed Babylon, though this 
name is typical, or symbolical, rather than real and 
actual. The name is descriptive, arid shows the resem¬ 
blance that will exist between it and its golden type. 
But what gloom gathers around the ill-fated city when 
its end shall come. Its fall will be the fall of the 
greatest city the world ever saw ; and will bring along 


earth’s future 


331 


in its train the greatest revolution the earth has known. 
The earth is yet to witness the spectacle of this burn¬ 
ing city, and the judgment of the cities that have been 
seduced by its example, and burned incense at its 
unholy shrine. 

It will not do to ignore this city. The description is 
too real. It is all stated as a plain matter of fact; # 
and its overthrow will bring in an entire new state or 
condition of our world. Whatever is obscure at pres¬ 
ent in relation to this “ great city,” (yet to come) will 
then be made plain; but the fact of such a city, and its 
overthrow—its burning—can hardly be made plainer 
than it is. What will immediately follow this event will 
be the judgment of Satan ; whatever this may include. 
This will usher in the millennium in all its glory, and 
the first resurrection of the dead. 

On this earth, as on a stage, are these scenes to be 
enacted ; it is the theatre in which they will be dis¬ 
played. 


* The reader is referred to Revelations, from chapter xii. to xix. inclusive, 
where rises to view the greatest empire of ancient or modern times. 






332 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


^looli Cfotlftjj. 


INVOCATION. 

* 

Holy Spirit! assist to write of scenes on which the 
regeneration of this earth is built. Thou didst inspire 
holy men of old to write of these things—to foretell 
them in dark and measured numbers, long before they 
came to pass. Moses and Elijah saw from afar, and 
foretold what Christ should suffer; and on the Mount 
of Transfiguration they talked of this to him a little 
before his death. What pen can speak rightly of this 
without the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Without 
this it seems absurd, unworthy of the great Creator,— 
yea, even a fable,—even as the sacrifice of his son by 
Abraham. According to human wisdom how preposter¬ 
ous does it appear ! If reason steps in, it asks would 
God make such a requisition as this ? We know God 
did make it; and foreshadowed a far greater offering 
The illumination of the darkness is faith; and we must 
bow our heads acquiescently to the Divine mandate 
There are heights in God’s ways to man which reason 
cannot ascend; there are mysteries which it cannot 




PROPHECY. 


333 


penetrate. We come to tread on this ground, and to 
speak of the death of Christ. Our heart trembles; we 
fear to venture. 0, God assist! 0, Holy Spirit, in¬ 

spire ! 


CHAPTER L 

THE SUFFERING OF DEATH FORETOLD. 

There are some writers, and reviewers too,* so wise 
in their own conceit, and such defenders of Christi¬ 
anity, as to see in Jeremiah or Israel their own fate 
or end. What is usually ascribed to Christ,—the pre¬ 
diction of what Jesus suffered,—they are pleased to 
refer either to the one or the other, or to both. Wise 
men! What an element do they take out of the 
history of Christ. What stands out in all his history 
with greater prominence, with more marked signifi¬ 
cance, both before and after his resurrection, than his 
reference to his death ? With what particularity did 
he describe what he should suffer from those into whose 
power he should be delivered ; all the shameful treat¬ 
ment and outrage, even to the smallest details. And 
from whence does he draw these particulars? Even 
from the Bible. 4 Jesus does but repeat what had been 


♦ See “Bunsen’s Biblical Researches,” reviewed in^“ Essays and Re- 
views.” 






334 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


previously written, he is his own commentator upon 
these inspired passages. 

Then, to run ahead a little, what must we think of 
Philip as a commentator upon Isaiah, when he explains 
to the Ethiopian eunuch the meaning of the passage, 
“He was led as a sheep to the slaughter; and as a 
lamb dumb before his shearers, so he opened not his 
mouth.” # Did Philip preach to the eunuch from this 
passage Jeremiah or Jesus ? Or, did he refer the pas¬ 
sage, in its primary sense, to Jeremiah ? and then, by 
way of accommodation, so that he might not be left out 
altogether, to Jesus ? What foolery is this! These 
men, if they can but stab Jesus, and wound him in the 
house of his friends, pay little attention to common 
sense. 

It is worthy of remark, according to the record of 
Mark, that as Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, for 
the last time, in company with his disciples, he intro¬ 
duced the subject of his death, under circumstances of 
peculiar solemnity. 

Jesus was in advance of the rest. He was walking 
alone; and something in his appearance filled them 
with amazement and fear. What was this something? 
Did it prefigure his death? Was it some lustrous 
emanation from his body ? a shining forth of the di¬ 
vinity within? Did the sun suffer a partial eclipse, its 
spendor paling before a radiance greater than its own?f 
There was a most unusual appearance; the language 


* Compare Acts viii. 32. with Isaiah liii. 7, 8. 
• f See Mark x. 2. 



335 


earth’s future. 

clearly supports this. Immediately after this striking 
emanation he enters upon the subject of his last suffer¬ 
ings and death, and the manner in which he should be 
treated by the chief priests and scribes ; and how he 
should be condemned to death, and delivered into the 
hands of the Romans, who had the power of life and 
death. This emblem of sovereignty had for over twen¬ 
ty years been taken from the Jews. 

When with sacrilegious hands would-be critics of 
God’s holy Word attempt to set aside the death of 
Christ, or at least give it no higher character than that 
of Socrates, we may apply to them without stint the 
words of Christ to Peter, who, wholly unable to appre¬ 
hend this point in the teaching of his Master, discarded 
it as wholly inapplicable to Christ, and at variance with 
the establishment of his kingdom in our world. Stern 
was the rebuke which Peter received; and he was told 
that what he said, “ savored not the things that be of 
God, but those that be of men.” * So of these critics, 
however profound their learning, or deep their philoso¬ 
phy, their critical investigations 11 savor not the things 
that be of God, but those that be of men.” 


* Matt. 16. 23. 


/ 






336 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


CHAPTER II. 

WHAT LIES BACK OF OR BEHIND THE PICTURE OF THE 

CROSS. 

• 

In a painting, what is not in the front, or foreground, 
is apt, by the superficial observer, to be but little 
noticed; when perhaps the effect of the figures in 
front, or whatever the pencil has sketched, is owing to 
the coloring that looms up from the background—the 
dark shading that appears on the canvass. In the pic¬ 
ture of the cross, all is dark and obscure in the back¬ 
ground ; there is no intermingling of shades—of chi¬ 
aroscuro —the blending of light and of shade in the 
painting. All is dark ; yet the figure on the cross, the 
light that shines from the mangled, discolored body of 
Christ, shines into the darkness ; and the one, carefully 
observed, relieves the palpable darkness of the other.. 

There is a mighty conflict going on between the 
powers of darkness and the powers of light. We see 
this more or less clearly brought out in heathen myth¬ 
ology. And in that system of religion, once prevalent 
in the most enlightened parts of our world, the powers 
of darkness were propitiated—the infernal gods, as well 
as those who were thought to be more beneficent in 
their rule, and worthy of man’s highest praise. The 
fact of the great contest between evil and good—light 
and darkness—is sufficiently indicated in their religious 


PICTURE OP' THE CROSS. 


337 


rites, and in the worship of Proserpina or Hecate. 
Proserpina, wife of Pluto, and queen of hell, was to 
them what death is to us, or rather, perhaps, she per¬ 
sonified death. Death is with us the sharp and glitter¬ 
ing spear which Satan brandishes over our heads; it is 
the sign of the sceptre and sovereignty of Satan. It is 
the executioner who follows in the train of this malig¬ 
nant evil spirit, and is the willing servant to do ihe 
behests of the great enemy of God and man. The 
question arises, “How can death be reached?” The 
answer is, through Satan, his master. 

Now behind the cross is the black cloud of sin and 
evil; and wrapped up in interminable folds in that same 
cloud, is Satan—Satan figures in the scene. Where is 
the spear of Ithuriel, by which he may be pierced? 
This crooked serpent, assuming every form, resorting 
to every device to maintain his ascendancy, how shall 
he be taken and bound, so as to deceive the nations no 
more ? “ The third part of the stars of heaven”* has 

he drawn in his trail; he assumes to govern the king¬ 
doms of the earth. 

There is but one way by which Satan, sin, and death 
(these three are but one) can receive their fatal wound, 
and that is through the cross; and when we see Jesus 
expiring on the cross, then we know that Satan, though 
stronger than leviathan, has received a wound,—a 
thrust from Ithuriel’s spear—from which he will never 
recover. He may struggle for a long while, and make 
vast efforts to escape from the barbed weapon—but all 


* Rev. xil. 4. 





338 


HEROD ANT1PAS. 


his efforts will prove futile, and the victory of the cross 
will be complete. 

The whole of the Bible, from the beginning to the 
end, is built upon a contest going on between G-od and 
Satan; and when Jesus steps upon the stage, w r hat is 
his design but to bind Satan, and shut him up in “ the 
bottomless pit,” “ that he should deceive the nations no 
more?”* * He who deceived Eve by his subtlety, has 
since deceived the whole world; and it requires but 
little effort of reason to perceive that what men so 
greedily pursue, riches, fame, power, pleasure, are by 
no means worthy of the pains bestowed; neither does 
their possession ever give the high degree of satisfac¬ 
tion which it was supposed that they would. Satan is 
that subtle spirit, who by his transformations deceives 
men ; and lures them to the pursuit of imaginary good, 
in place of that which is real and enduring. He has 
had nearly the whole stage to himself; and one great 
means of his success has been the possession of earthly 
kingdoms, which he claims for his own ; a claim which 
even Jesus did not dispute. Earthly rewards—the in¬ 
dulgence of our appetites—the gratification of our 
desires—Satan proposes to all of us in some form or 
other,if we will but “fall down and worship him.” 
Thus he spoke to Christ; thus he speaks to all his 
deluded votaries; and his success has been great. 
“ The whole world lieth in the arms of the wicked one.” 
Whatever some may fondly say to the contrary, this is, 
on the whole, literally true ; and should there be no 

^ — 


* Revelations xx. 3. 



PICTURE OF THE CROSS. 


339 


marked change for the better, on the face of our world, 
we may pronounce Christianity—the Bible—to be a 
failure. 

But Jesus has come into our world to judge Satan. 

Now is the judgment of this world; now shall tho 
prince of this world be cast out.” * Satan was to 
bruise the heel of the seed of the woman: (that is 
Christ) but the seed of the woman was to bruise his 
(Satan’s) head, j* 

The issue of this contest, so long pending, is yet to 
be seen; and the victory of Christ is to be made ap¬ 
parent to all eyes. With the overthrow of Satan, death, 
his right arm, his prime minister, will be destroyed 
also ; and with him wickedness shall come to a com¬ 
plete end, at least for a time, in this our world, and our 
Saviour’s prayer be fulfilled: “Thy will be done on 
earth as it is in heaven.” Who does not respond to this 
prayer, and say, amen. This happy period, which this 
earth is yet to see, is called in Scripture phrase, “ The 
Millennium,” and was long since anticipated in heathen 
song under the name and age of the reign of Saturn— 
the golden age of the world. Heathen oracles have 
caught some rays of light from a truer inspiration ; but 
they place the happy era of our world in the past, 
which really and truly belongs to the future. 

Behind the cross—under and around it—there is 
another contest going on, invisible to mortal eyes, but 
none the less real. It is between God and Satan. 
Satan has had his “ hour” and “ power of darkness;” 


f John xii. 31. * Gen. ill. 15. 


» 




340 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


but the cross is to decide the victory eternally for 
God. 

The cross of Jesus shall in the future be to his fol¬ 
lowers the emblem of triumph, as it has been in the 
past the emblem of humiliation. 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE CROSS. 

It is a little remarkable that in immediate juxtaposi¬ 
tion with the passage; “Now is the judgment of this 
world : now shall the prince of this world be cast out,” 
we find this passage : “ And I, if I be lifted up from 
the earth, will draw all men unto me.” # The evan¬ 
gelist adds to this, these words by way of explanation: 
“ This he said, signifying what death he should die.” j* 
By “ being lifted up from the earth,” he meant dying 
on the cross ; and “drawing all men unto him,”signified 
the victory of Christ over Satan; and the consequent 
disenthralment of man from his slavish chains. His 
power to deceive would be gone, and men would see in 
Jesus the one “altogether lovely;” and be led away by 
his charms from what might be called optical delusions 
The heart would now be won ; and this would lead to a 
complete surrender to Christ of all that once charmed 


* John 12. 32. 


f .Ibid. v. 23. 




earth’s future. 


341 


and enthralled it. Satan’s power of enchantment would 
be over; and especially his power over the imagination, 
captivating the soul through this source, by dreams of 
glory, or visions of bliss, through sensual indulgences, 
whether of the more refined or gross kind. The imagi¬ 
nation is that faculty through which Satan exercises a 
greater control than perhaps any other ; and when this 
is brought into obedience to Christ through the cross, 
the conquest over the whole man is comparatively easy. 
Hence, says Jesus, “ I, if I be lifted up from the earth, 
will draw all men unto me.” I will dissipate the delu¬ 
sions of Satan ; and as I repelled the tempter at every 
point, so will my followers do. They will receive this 
power through the cross, and through faith in him who 
died on that cross. For these words to become true in 
the extended sense meant, Satan must be “judged and 
cast out.” This event has not yet occurred ; it is in 
the future—but perhaps not so far ofi as may seem. 
The events leading to the judgment of Satan will pro¬ 
ceed rapidly when they once begin. The whole series 
of impending judgments, eventuating in that of Satan, 
is laid out in regular order, one following the other, 
and growing more severe, till the final catastrophe, 
“ the judgment of the prince of this world.” 

Satan has always had this before his eye, since the 
first promise of the seed of the woman, in the garden, 
when it was said that in the seed of Abraham should the 
whole earth be blest with the knowledge of the glory 
of the Lord; he knew that this portended his over¬ 
throw and dethronement. And we may also suppose 
that he had some knowledge of the meaning of that sig- 


342 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


nificant figure, the brazen serpent lifted up in the 
wilderness, as in some way personifying his discomfit¬ 
ure ; the end of his day of power on the earth. 

Did he not also conceive that there was some 
strange, mysterious potency in the blood of the Lamb, 
shed each morning and evening on the altar of the 
Lord ? Hence his efforts,—often too successful,—to 
draw the children of Israel into idolatry, and as far as 
possible to get them to intermit that sacred rite ; to 
build other altars, and to worship in places not chosen 
or consecrated by God. This seduction was ever one 
of his most potent auxiliaries. A false charm was im¬ 
parted to heathen altars and groves; and the nation 
went astray, seduced by a vain imagination. Satan was 
at the bottom of it all ; he was the great agent or 
seducer,—as in the beginning, when he led Eve astray, 
and tempted her to pluck and to eat the forbidden 
fruit. 

The cross is a vain symbol, and the death of Jesus 
Christ is in reality no more than that of Socrates, 
or any other good man, dying for a truth, or a friend— 
if Satan be disconnected from the cross. And they 
who attempt to weaken this or that fact in Christianity 
or Judaism, must go deeper than this, if they would 
effect their purpose. They must take Satan out of the 
Bible, and so root up the whole system. He lies 
wrapped up in his folds at the foot of the upas tree of 
evil; hence its deadly influence. The existence of 
Satan is as necessary to revelation as the existence of 
God; and when you sweep away the reality of the one 
you sweep away that of the other. Hence the singular 


PICTURE OF THE CROSS. 


343 


gloom and mystery that hangs around the cross; Satan 
in that dark hour gaining a temporary ascendancy* 
only to he smitten to the ground to rise no more. 

Treading amid such mysteries, we must take words 
as they read, and not attempt to turn them away from 
their natural signification. Hence those emphatic words 
addressed to those who took Jesus: “This is your 
hour, and the power of darkness.” # The devil was 
combined with man ; hell and earth were leagued to¬ 
gether against earth’s great deliverer, in that awful 
hour. The “ power of darkness” figures conspicuously, 
though shrouded from sight, in this dreadful scene. He 
exerts all his might; he summons all his forces. The 
air is filled with invisible foes; and these, as we may 
conjecture, near the cross, darkening the air. 

And w T hat was that strange, mysterious agony in the 
garden, ill the dark, sad, lonely midnight hour ? What 
did that portend ? What did that mean? Had Satan 
no agency here ? What were the ingredients mixed in 
that cup? W r ho can tell? Jesus says of himself the 
night before his death, and quoting from Isaiah, 
thereby irresistibly fixing the sense of these words : 
“ And he was reckoned among the transgressors.” f 
Then, in some way, as he drank that bitter cup, he 
tasted for the world the sins of transgressors, as he 
afterward tasted death, so that those who believed in 


* Luke 12. 53. 

f Isaiah liii. 12. Baron Bunsen must ignore such passages as these, when 
he says that they do not refer primarily and wholly to Christ, and to nono 
other. 



344 


HEROD ANTIPAS. 


his name should not experience its bitterness. All the 
hitter dregs of sin and death Christ drank ; and Satan, 
who was the chief agent in the first and original trans¬ 
gression of man, made it, w*e may be sure, as bitter and 
dreadful as possible. It is hard to understand this. 
Jesus “ trod the wine-press alone ; and of the people 
there w*as none with him.” 

Never were there such sufferings; never was there 
such grief. 

The wrath of God, (and by wrath here we understand 
the necessary displeasure of God at sin, as an infinitely 
holy and just God) we may affirm, was part of that cup. 
The wrath of God involves a sense of condemnation for 
sin; and this, which every one feels for himself, as he 
understands the nature of God and his holy govern¬ 
ment, Jesus suffered for us all; he was weighed down 
to the ground under the almost insupportable load, (0, 
anguish dire!) and nearly fainted in the strife. Satan 
was there to jeer, to afflict, to depress, to weaken ; and 
the more so because he knew it was the prelude to the 
removal of the curse from the earth ; and its release 
from groaning bondage. 

At length, when, on the following day, at the time 
of the evening sacrifice, (the very hour when to his 
father the angel Gabriel announced the birth of his 
forerunner) Jesus bowed his head and died, and said, 
“It is finished,” whatever the penalty was that the 
first Adam incurred, the Second Adam paid ; and amid 
the awe of the solemn mystery, we close. 


CONCLUSION. 


345 


i 


EPILOGUE. 

In our next volume—the third and last of the series, 
—we shall take up the thread from this point. In all 
humility, and with many tears, often sad and oppressed 
—knowing how the ear is closed against such homely 
truths as w T e propound,—we have written this book. 
We know well that unless God give the book success 
its fate is foresealed. Few will read ; fewer still will 
feel what we have written. We have trodden this path 
too long not to know how lonely a one it is; and that 
few care to walk in it. Still w’e venture to hope and to 
pray that God will give our book, written in his name, 
and for his glory, a measure of success. Farewell 
reader! and forget us not in our loneliness and our 
solitude. 

Hark! The bells are ringing; they come from the 
* other side; the sound of them floats softly across the 
water. The country is not so far off as it appeared; that 
pleasant land—where the good of our world have dwelt 
of yore, and where they hope soon to dwell again— 
amid skies always clear, and fields always green ; 
where the ‘ noontide of glory eternally reigns.” 

“ Earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the Lord.” 


THE END. 




/ 













g S 6 •$! 



















































t \ ' v - '•% 

-5SA cw ^ 

v N <° s ° ♦, w ** s .cv x v *>%^°" v x ..° s 

a o^jYTT-x^ 1 ^ ^ 


& 


vV , 


A 




^ V , ‘ /-; HI 


* .i ^ * ip^ •* x° ^ * cl 
.. . v v C "+ '■ ’-VCo c V'« 

’*»* O. v .' ...V ^ A 0 * 'V / C- 

U \ 

/ c-vlna\\N>j 

^ ^ • 



v- 

'H, 


\ ! 

Bv 

C * « r^SXMfcW £ 

A ^ yJW y ' Q^' 

.,„« ,^. "' ' ' C , , 

' a t -§AiMk', .„ o -' 0i f 

* o O' 


* V 





v 

“ A^ V % ■ 

' o. i * A °b ' .C 

c 0 N •' <> ’^o * \ ' « 

i 


o> H- ■' 

, ^ ' - 

/, S VL' <±* * 

”, * » I 1 * v* X .* - ^ * 0 

' " / O V V s 

♦ '<■■ 




'^/' c N ; 

^ * * v z > 

*? r?f. 



V 

c. *?W*f J 

- 1 « 0 f ’*' t - r * “ 1 ' V' S ' ° / A. 

•A, .> >L ^ <?• \V * 

, ' iK/A » <<>, C 

/ 




^ ^ V ..- > . ’ 

fj, * « „0 c- /, 

o^ C * 


A' 


c> o Y/ '^AWV ° 

" oV ^ > : C >■ - 

/ * * s S . f.» <C 7 0 » ,v ^ .' \ 

0° . # - c " 

v 0 o. ^ 




<V 

C C,- <r 

^ ^ - £:, 

aV </> , 

vV c -l 

^ ^ H o> 

N c V V '-' S N 6 

0 - S* 




V 

5 AO 



,\V </> . 

$ % 

J "*^ a ?, r, ^TT^' 

A • a N (, * X, N 

'■ C ♦ (N k o 

V <> > cAS>t\ X' ^ l. 

f-, A ' C;^I% - ■». v « 

A v ! ^ oo' 



V" " r 

?'> 9 " C'a-, -o 

* % / : r M/h'< H, av_: 


* 0o .<. 




PreservationTechr 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRE 




A WORLD LEADER ... . „ r r „ 

111 Thomson Park Dri 
Cranberry Township, F 
( 724 ) 779-2111 


A 


o 


















$) * sf, 

AV * «* 

. z ' 


>. 0,-' .■' ' ••• •- c 

^ 03 l\\v t i' h , 

v \V </* 

V* .**' * # \ • . 

V IB * 0 k K * A "D S x ,0' 

f 0 V* * 1 X^ * 0 N c * Y b * * »\ ■ « 

v ' "P <*£> ■> /> c -r- ) A’ s 

\t " j $ h/y "■' ^ Si A *• ^ ^ ^ ^ .j? -,j 1 ' ”> 

°0 X * A % ,- ' * '• V' ° ■ '.r-*-^ ' >S~ A 

3 > "/I/ v It^ ■ © A c> 

-V ?v . . v > 

\ *» N o’ ,o c o *■*,,,.' °s- 

> > o> »'*», l r. \V S> 

A ,A V 

y ^ ^U! J|^ - vi 




it. / v 

cP y 

r> * „ 

V. » N 


■ 

';.fi dSv ^ 

A ** I * * s s aG^ < A 0 * X *" A 

A / s&L 4 ',°o 0 °‘ ^:,:* ^ x / a°: 


c- * *N 

•<« 

^ 1 . 1 ' .- A 


4 -* * j 

^ It. v 


r *> .A' ^ « 1 S‘- J ■ « '1, ’ ♦ 

w \ > V * >5) C» •» *> ^*Si. .AS* 1 V C. 

‘- ■■ ' *^1' ,1 'a c "A: 1 i 1 A, 

■ * '• ^ « *Wa 1 a * 


'• ^ 

K°qt 




.'■' /■.. i 

4 ' S * * / 

V ' 

V. A. aar*^. _ 



0< ^<. 

A. 


c° ,' *, ^ 

o x • //-•*; > : ^ r 

^ x°^<* 

s - S o. K % 1 ' 


* A *1-^1, 1 

*>» a> ‘s - v A: I'V y 

.= ,;'A« '^o' 


S»P\ > v 


C<V /• 


•N 



































































